


Qui N’avance Pas, Recule

by nekojita



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Big Bang, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andrew's a Fed, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jean takes some things very seriously, M/M, Neil and Jean do bad things for a living, Pining, Riko and the Nest, blame it on a bet, fair warning, he's still surprised too, jeandreil, not for long, or mostly bad things, the boys are trying to move on from the past, water used as revenge, yet they're in a good place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekojita/pseuds/nekojita
Summary: Upon reaching a breaking point, a young Nathaniel flees the Nest with his partner in tow to start life anew as Neil in Marseille with Jean ever at his side. It’s not an easy life, not when they often have to lie and steal (or worse) to survive, but they’re together.Upon a dare, Andrew Minyard joined the FBI instead of going pro with Exy – and is still involved in the world of the Moriyamas, in tearing down their empire. Now he has the best chance to break apart its foundations, and to do that he needs the help of a certain pair of criminals.





	Qui N’avance Pas, Recule

**Author's Note:**

> OK, I'm really tired so this probably won't make any sense. Here's the fic I've been working on for what seems forever, finally posted toward the end of the AFTG big bang put together by the amazing defractum and with incredible art from [kurakaw](https://kurakaw.tumblr.com/image/177854379344) (check it out)!
> 
> Warning for violence and non-con in the first scene (not very graphic), and some violence toward the second to last scene (not too graphic).
> 
> And thanks so much to Kitshunette and Les Baguettes Foxes for all their help with the French parts of this fic and some various plot points, and Fall for the Game for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> *******

*******

Nathaniel struggled to keep on his feet while Riko and Kevin continued their attempt to get past him and Jean in order to score on the goal; if it wasn’t for Jean to his left, if it wasn’t for the fact that Nathaniel refused to deal with Tetsuji’s ‘disappointment’ again that week (to feel the old bastard’s cane bear down on his back again and _again_ when it already was a mass of bruises and scars), and if it wasn’t for how much he refused to give an entitled brat like Riko the satisfaction of winning….

It was difficult (more than difficult), but if there was one thing Nathaniel was good at – other than Exy and being a smart-mouthed little shit – it was being stubborn. He dug down deep to find the strength and energy to keep going, to hold on to his racquet and not get knocked aside, to be fast enough to scoop up the ball or dart out of the way while flinging it away.

In the end he and his partner managed to check Riko and Kevin enough to keep the score down to three, which was two less than the five which the Master had ordered the young strikers to achieve. Nathaniel’s legs threatened to give out on him at any moment and his arms trembled, his eyesight wavered and he felt sick to his stomach from overexertion, but it was worth it to know that for once, he and Jean weren’t the ones to incur their Master’s wrath.

No, but judging from the simmering ire in Riko’s dark eyes, they’d (or Nathaniel at least, and what happened to one partner happened to the other) substituted one punishment for another. He waited until Tetsuji sent him and Jean to the showers while Riko and Kevin remained on court, to say anything. “ _I’m sorry_ ,” he told his partner in French while they washed off.

“ _No, I was right there beside you blocking him from the goal_ ,” Jean argued. “ _We either let down the Master or we dare stand up to our ‘king’, there’s no way for us to win_.”

Nathaniel struggled with the rage inside of him over that statement, over how Jean was correct; if there was one thing that was a constant truth at the Nest it was that no matter what the two of them did it never turned out well. They could either please Tetsuji or they could appease Riko, but it was impossible to do both.

They had to excel at Exy… but since they were backliners, that meant they did it by making the offensive players (Riko and Kevin) look bad. And making Riko, Tetsuji’s ‘heir’ and the ‘king’ of his own little Perfect Court look bad?

Nathaniel had arrived at Castle Evermore almost four years ago bearing scars from ‘disappointing’ his father, Nathan Wesninski, the Butcher of Baltimore and Kengo Moriyama’s right-hand man (his personal hitman and all-around thug, he’d discovered). Things hadn’t gotten any better once he’d been turned over to Tetsuji Moriyama and his sadist of a nephew.

No, making Riko look bad was never a good thing.

He and Jean retired to their room in the Red Hall and attempted to concentrate on their homework for the day, to put aside the reality of their lives for a little while, but soon enough the door opened to admit Riko – Riko with a bruised and swollen left cheek, the ‘1’ which he drew on it each day with such pride in marker smeared and distorted. A Riko with four other people behind him, Ravens players who were at least sophomores.

“Riko,” Nathaniel and Jean said in unison as they stood, the expected behavior when a player of higher rank came into their presence. Unease settled in Nathaniel’s chest and tightened muscles until he had to force his lungs to move, to draw in and then expel air, because it was bad enough to have Riko appear without Kevin, but with the older Ravens?

He could only hope that Riko was here to watch while the four young men roughed him up. Second best would be that they would hold him down while Riko pulled out one of those damn knives he always carried (the ones he didn’t keep very good track of, such a shame) and put it to use.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” Riko asked, his dark eyes glittering with anger (and a hint of madness) while the Ravens (Orson, Howard, Torres, O’Donnell) stared at Nathaniel and Jean with blatant anticipation.

“We did what the Master told us,” Nathaniel said before Jean could appease the brat, determined to focus Riko’s wrath on himself. “It’s not our fault that you sucked today.”

“Nathaniel,” Jean choked out while Riko smiled, the expression one of malice.

“Someone just refuses to learn, doesn’t he?” Riko crossed the room in a few quick steps, and Nathaniel didn’t bother to block the blow that rocked his head to the side. “Still so feisty after all this time.” Riko grabbed hold of Nathaniel’s hair and used it to throw him onto the bed. “That’s amusing most of the time, but when you make me look bad in front of my uncle?” The ‘smile’ was wiped away and replaced with rage while Riko motioned to Orson and Torres. “You’re nothing but trash, Wesninski, nothing but bartered goods, the both of you. It’s time you remember that and your rightful place.”

“No.” Nathaniel shook his head when he saw Howard and O’Donnell move toward an unresisting Jean. “No, dammit, it was _my_ idea! Blame me!” he called out even as Torres shoved him down flat on the bed and Orson grabbed his legs.

Riko grinned at his panic and outrage, delighted in knowing that Jean’s pain and degradation would hurt more than what Nathaniel was about to suffer – it was probably why he had ordered it to happen. “Remember this the next time you attempt to block me from the goal, number three.”

Nathaniel bared his teeth at the bastard as his sweatpants were yanked down his bound legs, as he heard Howard complain that Jean wasn’t putting up a fight, as he was roughly flipped onto his stomach. He braced himself for the agony about to happen, his hands scrambling along the bed as Torres pressed down on his back, his right hand sliding beneath the black pillow as a knee was shoved between his legs to force them apart.

He felt the smooth hilt of the knife he’d ‘picked up’ a few weeks ago, one of Riko’s that the bastard had forgotten about after ‘playing’ with him and Jean. Riko had been too pleased with himself to notice that it was missing, while Nathaniel had been so incensed over the numerous cuts he’d had to stitch closed on his partner’s body that he’d forced aside his distaste of the weapon to clean it and hide it away.

His fingers wrapped around it as a familiar, tearing pain jolted through him, but it wasn’t until he heard Howard and O’Donnell argue over who would go first with Jean that something finally snapped inside of him, that made him whip his arm around to drive the blade into Torres’ side. As soon as the weapon sunk into flesh, all of those awful lessons with Lola took over, the hours spent learning how to wield a knife (to hurt someone, to _more_ than hurt someone).

After several years in the Nest, in dealing with Riko and the older Ravens, Nathaniel really _, really_ wanted to hurt someone. Hurt them because they’d so enjoyed hurting him and _Jean_.

He didn’t hesitate to carry through with those lessons, to make sure that Torres and Orson would never hurt him again, and then he lunged for O’Donnell, who was holding onto Jean’s shoulders. The burly goalie was falling to the floor before Riko seemed to realize what Nathaniel was doing, that something was indeed wrong, and by then Howard was shoved off of Jean with Nathaniel straddling him and swiping the blade across his throat.

“What are – you’re crazy!” Nathaniel was yanked off of Howard by Riko who had a knife of his own in his hand, and for a moment Nathaniel hesitated as sanity returned – Riko was a Moriyama, was the family that owned not only him but his father. Then he thought about what that knife would do to Jean, had already done to Jean, but before he could move, something crashed into Riko’s right side and knocked him to the floor.

There was Jean with one of their practice racquets held up as if a weapon before he brought it down once more with enough force to knock out a groaning Riko. Nathaniel paused a moment to check that the bastard was still breathing; he considered changing that but knew they were already in enough trouble.

“ _Oh god_ ,” Jean gasped as he dropped the racquet. “ _What are… what’s going to happen_?” He glanced at the four dead Ravens slumped on or around the beds and then ran into the bathroom with his hands over his mouth.

While his partner threw up, Nathaniel cleaned the knife on a corner of the soiled duvet then joined Jean in the bathroom as he shed the remains of his clothes. “We need to move quickly,” he said as he jumped in the shower to wash off the blood, uncaring about the cold water. “We have a little time.”

Done throwing up, Jean stared at him in confusion. “Nat… you just… just killed _four_ people. What are you talking about? We need to tell-“

“We need to _run_.” Nathaniel had half a plan in his mind and went with it because what else could they do? “We leave here, go to Howard and O’Donnell’s room, grab some clothes and whatever money they have, then leave the Nest.” As soon as the water ran mostly clear, he stepped out of the shower to dry off. “Once we’re off campus, I have someone we can call.” He figured they had about an hour, that or whenever Riko woke up. It would be enough.

It had to be enough.

Jean moaned as if he was in pain. “Your mother? You know you can’t, she’ll just-“

“Not her, my uncle,” Nathaniel hurried into the main room and grabbed the first black clothes he found, doubling up his underwear because of the slight bleeding (it would stop soon, it hadn’t been bad that time). “She gave me his number after I came here.”

Nathaniel’s father had sent him to Edgar Allan with Lola when it came time for his ‘trial’, for Tetsuji to see if he was good enough to play Exy for the man, as if he hadn’t trusted his wife when it came to giving up their only child. The last time Nathaniel had seen his mother was a few days later when she came to bring him some personal belongings and to basically say ‘goodbye’ – among the few items had been a slip of paper with a phone number for her brother, Stuart Hatford, of the London Hatfords.

He’d memorized the number a long time ago then destroyed the note, and had to hope that Stuart would help Mary Hatford Wesninski’s son in a time of need. If not… the Moriyamas would track Nathaniel and Jean down soon enough, and probably call in the Butcher to make examples of them.

There weren’t many people out in the Red Hall that time of night, not after a busy day of practice, so Nathaniel and Jean were able to get to the (now dead) Ravens’ room, grab a bag which they stuffed with a few non-black sweatshirts along with any money they found (since they didn’t possess any), and then they headed for the nearest exit. Exits they normally avoided, since to leave the Nest was to risk punishment.

Well, they were a bit past being beaten for stepping outside without permission, weren’t they?

It felt strange to be out at night, let alone without Tetsuji or Riko and Kevin at their side, and once they were away from Castle Evermore, Nathaniel had Jean shed his Edgar Allan sweatshirt while he did the same to change into their stolen clothes before they ran to the nearest bus stop. It was nerve-wracking to wait for the next bus to arrive and take them off-campus, with Nathaniel wary of anyone paying them attention.

They made it near the river in downtown Charleston, where they wandered a busy street – and Nathaniel put on a smile to charm a group of older women having what looked to be a ‘girls night’ to let him use one of their phones so he could call his uncle while Jean distracted them (they gushed over his French accent).

"Who the hell is this?"

Nathaniel felt a rush of relief upon hearing the gruff voice speaking in a British accent similar to his mother's. "It's... it's Abram," he said in a rush. "I need help."

"Abram?" Stuart sounded incredulous but didn’t hang up. "The hell? How- where are you?"

"On Capitol Street in Charleston, but we need to keep moving, they'll realize we're gone soon."

Stuart didn't waste time asking useless questions. "All right, you got money on you?"

"Yeah, about three hundred." He’d always heard that the Ravens got a hefty monthly stipend, so nice that it appeared to be true.

"Take a cab to Springhill and look for a bar named Cindrich’s on Kentucky Street. I'll let them know you're coming. Get going now." Stuart hung up as if well aware of how short on time they were, and Nathaniel did his best to wipe the call history before he handed the woman the phone and a few bucks for lending it to him; he then tugged Jean away and headed to an intersection where it would be easier to flag down a cab.

The driver wasn't that pleased with the idea of driving away from the downtown area with two young teenagers, but the promise of all their money convinced him (that and not having to deal with any drunks for once). He tried to start up a conversation with them but gave up after a few minutes - Nathaniel was already on edge given the situation and wasn't in the mood to talk to some stranger, let alone one around his father's age. It didn’t help that sitting for so long was uncomfortable as hell, but he was used to blanking out pain, for the most part. Jean’s arm around his shoulders helped.

Springhill was west of Charleston and not very busy for what Nathaniel assumed was a weekend (it was difficult to keep track of days back in the Nest), and once the cab dropped them off, it took a bit of wandering around to find Cindrich’s. Nathaniel felt self-conscious stepping into the small bar, well aware of his and Jean's lack of age, of his partner pressed against his back, of how many strangers (men, all men) were seated at the worn bar and tables, of all the ways that things could go wrong (the Moriyamas finding them, his _father's_ people finding them, it being a mistake to trust his uncle). Yet they were out of options and in the end... in the end he couldn't go back to the Nest, couldn't bear seeing Jean hurt again.

"Abram?" A stocky man with grey hair and a Scottish accent softened by years in the States who stood behind the bar called out as Nathaniel and Jean shuffled their feet just inside of the door.

"Yes," Nathaniel admitted with a bit of reluctance while Jean pressed even closer, his right hand shoved inside the pocket of the light blue hoody to grip the knife he’d brought along.

"Then come on, you and that sour-looking shadow of yours. We need to get you out of here before someone comes after you two." The man motioned for them to follow as he stepped away from the bar, another man leaving the kitchen to take his place. "Your uncle's waiting."

" _Can we trust him_?" Jean asked as they hesitated for a moment.

" _We don't really have a choice_." It was stay there and wait for the Moriyamas to find them or take a chance that the Hatfords would come through. When the bartender gave them a curt wave to move, Nathaniel reached back for Jean's hand and put what remained of his faith in the Hatfords.

*******

Jean breathed out a sigh as he stirred awake, comfortable in the bed he shared with his lover, the blankets tucked around them to block out the chill of winter; their apartment might be ‘charming’, but the downfall of ‘historic’ was that the insulation was rather lacking.

Still, one could make do with an adequate amount of blankets and a lover who enjoyed cuddling in bed, which Neil certainly did. Jean hugged him closer, smiling into a tangled mess of auburn curls since his much shorter partner’s head was tucked beneath his chin, and soaked in wonderful body heat, the feel of Neil’s lithe form against his own, the scent of mint shampoo, sun-dried sheets and a mix of their own faint sweat heavy in the air.

He was content with that, to lie there and rest together a little longer before their day started, until Neil did that sleepy little moan of his while rocking back his hips. Then he stilled when he felt Jean’s ‘morning’ arousal, the moan turning into an introspective hum as he rocked back harder.

“Stop,” Jean groaned out as he wrapped his arms around the damn imp’s waist. “You don’t- ahh.” He bit into his bottom lip when Neil ground against him and slid fingers into his hair.

“Hmm, but why not?” He didn’t need to look to see the smile on his lover’s face when he could hear it in that teasing voice, and a moment later Neil twisted about in his arms. “Such a _fun_ way to wake up, no?”

Because Jean sometimes felt that Neil was only doing it for _him_ , because in all the years that they’d been together Jean could count on one hand when Neil had woken up with an erection.

Yet he couldn’t deny that Neil was physically attracted to him, that his lover wanted him, especially when Neil slowly tugged his head down for a kiss which started out slow but grew more heated as Jean’s doubts faded away. He hated to think that Neil pushed too far because of him… but the truth was that he, as always, couldn’t deny the wretched imp a damn thing.

And Neil knew it, too.

He pushed Jean onto his back and straddled his hips, overlong bangs falling onto his gorgeous face and casting pale blue eyes into shadows until only that damn pleased smile on kiss-swollen lips was evident, the heavy blankets draped over his shoulders as he leaned in to nuzzle Jean’s neck. His hands stroked down Jean’s chest then slipped beneath the old t-shirt that Jean wore, pushed it up so he could trail kisses along Jean’s body as he slid downward – only to be stopped once he hit Jean’s navel.

“No,” Jean breathed out as he tugged his lover back up. “The both of us, yes?” he asked as he brushed aside those long bangs.

For a moment there was a stubborn jut to Neil’s chin and then he smiled. “All right.” He surged up for a kiss then slid onto the mattress as he pulled Jean on top.

Jean rearranged the blankets over them while Neil reached for the bottle of lube tucked between the mattress and the headboard, then they both twisted about and chuckled as they rid themselves of their clothes.

Sometimes Jean thought the best part of it all was the laughter, was catching the smile on Neil’s face and the amusement in his bright eyes, the eager way he wrapped those long, lean limbs around Jean’s body. Despite all the past nightmares and all the scars, now they had someone to trust, to enjoy, to lose themselves in.

Jean hissed as he slowly thrust into Neil, pleasure and desire coiling tighter inside of him with each motion and touch, an insidious growth that made him ache even more for the feel of Neil’s skin beneath his hands and lips, for that tight warmth around him, for the sound of Neil’s hoarse voice calling out his name.

He rocked forward even harder when Neil’s fingers dug into his shoulders, when Neil – nearly bent in half beneath him, shuddered and gasped. The intense spike of pleasure, of wondrous friction and the way his name was breathed out as if a reverent thing…. Jean buried his face in Neil’s hair as he came.

“Heavy,” the imp groaned after several seconds, the complaint accompanied with a slight smack to Jean’s back.

“Hmm, what was that? The buzzing of some gnat?” Jean murmured, then smiled when there was a quick nip to his left shoulder. “Good morning,” he said before he rolled away.

“It was, before _someone_ decided to smother me.” Still, Neil was smiling once again as he grabbed a discarded t-shirt (Jean’s of course) to wipe himself clean.

“Such a hard life.”

“I know.” Neil handed over the t-shirt and, after Jean put it to use and dropped it to the floor, they curled up together for a few more minutes, content to savor each other’s presence and the warmth beneath the blankets a little longer.

Then it was time to start the day, with Neil brewing a pot of tea while Jean gathered the sheets and a few articles of clothes for a load of laundry, then they each took turns in the shower. Once everything was hung out on their balcony to dry in the sun, they got dressed for the day (worn ankle boots, dark jeans for them both, hooded sweatshirts, and the usual assortment of weapons tucked into various sheathes and holsters). Neil grabbed the old suede bomber jacket which _used_ to belong Jean and swung it on in a smooth motion while Jean shook his head and pulled on his dark grey wool coat then motioned for his lover to precede him out the door.

Neil appeared like a teenager still with the overlarge coat on his small frame, especially when he tugged on the black knit cap he kept tucked in one of its pockets over his auburn curls, the ends bleached almost golden from the summer's sun even though it was now winter (he'd probably wait until it was almost spring to get a haircut, putting it off until he could barely see as always).The effect was intentional, was a calculated advantage to con people or lull them into thinking that he was to be underestimated, that he could be ignored while Jean was dealt with first.

The fools who did fall for the false image that Neil projected, the seemingly innocent face and slight build buried in too-large clothes? Most of them never had a chance to learn from their mistakes.

Jean remembered an old school lesson from his childhood which declared that often the most poisonous creatures were small and innocuous, which was fitting for his lover with his drab clothes and ability to disappear into a crowd despite his gorgeous features.

Once done adjusting his hat, Neil reached out to wrap Jean's blue and white scarf around his neck, a bit of fussing which Jean always frowned over but which never failed to make his breath catch in his throat. "So tall, my star," Neil complained. "One of these days I'm going to trip while doing this and choke you."

"I’m not an insignificant little imp like you," Jean teased back as he wrapped his arms around his lover and lifted him off his feet, a slight smile on his lips at Neil's adorable glare.

"Why haven't I wrapped you up in chains and thrown you into the sea yet, hmm?" Neil grumbled as Jean set him back down.

"I do the dishes and bring in the laundry." Not that there was much of the first since they were rarely home to eat, but still.

"Ah, that's it." Neil tugged on the ends of the scarf until Jean leaned down for a quick kiss and then they were on their way. They lived on the top floor of their sixth story apartment building but preferred to take the steps even though the elevator was reliable, unwilling to risk being boxed in, and nodded to a couple of other residents in passing.

It was a blustery day outside, one which made Jean grateful for his scarf and warm clothes, that and their preferred cafe only being two narrow street blocks away. Once there they made their way to the one table in the back which allowed them to watch both the door and the entire room, and Lori wasn't long in coming over with their coffees and taking their 'breakfast’ orders (which was something off of the lunch menu, considering the time of day). While they enjoyed their leisurely meal, Neil's phone rang.

Since he answered it with a smile and remained at the table, Jean took it to mean that it was one of his cousins, which was confirmed when he heard the name 'Henry'. There was a bit of pleasantries exchanged, Neil asking about the family and replying that he and Jean were fine, and then promising to look at the file before saying 'goodbye'.

" _Anything to worry about_?" Jean asked as he switched into Russian, which wasn't a given that they wouldn't be overheard but lessened the chances.

" _I don't think so, and no, it shouldn't be too much trouble for once, either_." The fact that Neil didn't appear bothered put Jean at ease so they finished their meal without any rush then left.

The wind had died down by then so they headed to Fort Saint-Jean (which always amused Neil, the bastard) where they could wander around while they talked. They pulled up the hoods of their sweatshirts to block out the afternoon sun, another slight smile curling on Jean's lips at his partner's frown, most likely over the glare bouncing off of the nearby water (though Neil always did grow thoughtful and sometimes even morose when he walked around the waterfront).

There had been a job that summer which had required them to spend time on Marseille’s waterfronts and beaches during the day, hence Neil's blond streaks and dusting of freckles along his upturned nose and sharp cheekbones. It had wreaked merry havoc with their usually more nocturnal schedules and required copious amounts of sunscreen considering their natural pallor, and Jean would miss the golden tone that had almost faded from his lover's skin.

He wouldn't miss the sight of blood on sand, though, of Neil lying so still next to the lapping water, even if his lover hadn't been badly hurt, just stunned. He _hated_ the jobs where Neil was hurt, where another scar was added to too many.

He hated it when the stubborn fool argued that it was worth it in the end, that they had a little more money in their account, a few more debts paid off, a little less red in their ledger and a little closer to being 'free'.

It wasn't worth it if Jean didn't have Neil at his side in the end.

Once they were suitably alone, he nudged his lover in the arm. "Well? What did Henry send?"

"I'm opening it now." Fine brows drawn together in annoyance, Neil pulled his phone out of pocket and held it up as he retrieved the file sent by his eldest cousin and entered the password which would break the encryption, and after scanning the document handed it over to Jean. "As I said, not bad."

He'd heard that before, but as Jean read the file, for once the fool of an imp didn't understate things (or leave out the part where he'd have to act as bait, or scale some impossible wall, or anything else that Jean swore was intended to drive him to an early grave). "Hmm, Louis works at that hotel, yes?" It seemed the Hatfords, or someone who had either hired the family or gotten a favor from them, wanted something stolen from a guest of the city. “Sofitel Marseille Vieux-Port?”

Jean much preferred stealing to murder, assault or kidnapping, though it wasn’t always assured to be an easy job if they had to get into a place, snatch something and get out without raising the alarm. Sometimes killing everyone who could cause any fuss had its benefits.

“Not Louis but Evan,” Neil corrected as he took back his phone. “And he owes us for helping with his girlfriend’s problem.”

“Ah, yes.” Evan was the one dating Ines, whose little sister had the ‘friend’ who hadn’t accepted that she wasn’t interested.

It took a bit of effort, getting to know the various bartenders and concierges at a good bit of the hotels around Marseille, but it was worthwhile in the end. Most of them needed a favor (or knew someone who needed one) at some point or could use extra money (who didn’t?), and so Neil and Jean had an easier time when it came to jobs such as this one.

They would get the laptop, as requested, and have a little more money in their accounts, have one more favor owed them as a buffer against the Moriyamas. In a world where money was all and one’s usefulness determined one’s longevity… well, those were the things which had kept Neil (Nat) and Jean free of the Nest for almost ten years.

Which would continue to keep them free of the Nest and the Moriyamas, even with Kengo dead and Ichirou now head of the family and raising a young son to take over one day, with Tetsuji growing older and rumored to be in fading health while Riko’s Exy career suffered from his increasing outbursts on court.

Jean patiently waited for the day when he and Neil weren’t worth the effort to pursue, when Ichirou had more important things to focus on. Maybe one day, maybe never, but they would keep moving toward the future.

They would keep making themselves too much effort for the young crime lord to bother with, because the one thing they’d learned over the years was that Ichirou was practical as well as ruthless.

It was a long walk back to their apartment, but the exercise was good for them (or so Jean declared while Neil grimaced and complained about having to keep pace with his long legs), where Jean checked the laundry while Neil logged on and chatted with a couple of their ‘colleagues’. Then they sat together on their couch while Jean read and Neil played on their laptop (researched one or two things he thought they might need for upcoming jobs, chatted with his cousin Jamie, looked up football scores for Jean and Exy scores for himself) before they changed into more suitable clothes for the night: form-fitting sweaters and newer boots, though Neil kept the old bomber.

He did comb back his hair and added something to keep it from constantly falling into his kohl-rimmed eyes, no longer content to appear like a sixteen-year-old. No, that time he’d be drawing the attention while Jean handled their contact.

They took the bike since they had to go through the Tunnel du Vieux-Port to get to the Sofitel Marseille Vieux-Port hotel, and Jean tried not to think about what had happened last summer at the Anse des Catalans beach nearby, about the fact that Neil would soon be away from his side and spending the next hour or two charming strangers with his bright smile and lovely face and lithesome body.

They entered the hotel and went up to the Dantes Skylounge, the bar where Evan worked, each of them going in separate directions once out of the elevator. Jean didn’t waste any time on the impressive scenery the foreigners and out of town guests were admiring out on the heated lounge, the view of the city at night and Fort Saint-Jean all lit up but focused on the thin young man with the polite smile and bleached blond hair busy measuring out a cocktail.

He sat at the bar and waited for Evan to finish making the two women next to him their drinks before he ordered an old-fashioned, which was code that he had a ‘request’ for the bartender. While Evan made his drink, they chatted about the game playing on one of the screens displayed above the bar - Paris Saint Germain against Monaco.

Jean had almost finished his second drink when Neil leaned against the bar while hanging on the arm of an older man in an expensive but loud suit, a man who cheered when PSG scored a goal. Evan managed a smile despite that fact and kept him distracted while Neil discretely handed Jean the man’s room card to be copied on a very useful pocket-sized device one could purchase for the right amount of money from the right type of contacts.

Jean nursed his third drink while munching on a fresh bowl of bar snacks until Evan gave him a slight nod, the sign that Neil had disappeared for more than five minutes (and so abandoned his latest ‘date’), which meant that it was time for Jean to pay his tab for the night. Tucked inside of the money was a note for Evan along with a hundred euro bill, a down payment for the required information.

Neil was waiting for Jean at the parking garage, perched on the bike with an annoyed frown on his face and hair mussed up. “Handsy asshole,” he muttered as he huddled in his coat. “And he wouldn’t shut up about football all night, it was worse than listening to _you_.”

“I don’t talk about sports all of the time.” They had their agreement, after all – Jean didn’t go on about football and Neil didn’t bring up Exy. Well, they didn’t talk about sports _much_. It was better that way, after Edgar Allan. “But yes, he’s an asshole, what do you expect from a PSG fan?”

Neil rolled his eyes at that. “See what I mean?” Still, he smiled, especially when Jean came over and wrapped his arms around Neil’s shoulders. “Let’s go home, I want to shower.”

“All right.” Jean gave him a quick kiss then opened the compartment to fetch their helmets before shooing the imp toward the back of the bike; Neil was a terror at driving at the best of times, let alone at night.

They picked up some take-out on the way home and ate it after Neil bathed, then sat down while Jean made a hard copy of the card; they knew Vincent Sault’s room number and Neil had managed to track down someone on the floor above him in the nearby vicinity just by asking people about the views from their own room.

Charming bastard indeed, and sneaky as well.

They were going over the layout of the hotel when there was a brief message from Evan, his acceptance of the job and a quote for what it would cost them for the information they needed (Sault’s schedule, pictures of his room, etc.); it was what they’d expected so Jean texted back an agreement before they went to bed.

The next day they spent mostly in the apartment, save for Jean running down to the little corner store for enough food to feed them (the owner was an older gentleman who fussed over him – fussed over them both, something that always unsettled Neil so Jean went and chatted with Mr. Lyon for a few minutes before returning with homemade soup, bread, cheese, tinned fish and apples). Despite the fact that they spent an hour cleaning their weapons, it was a pleasant day, one where other than the run to the store, they were never more than a few feet apart. One where they were usually in contact with the other in one form or another, Neil sprawled across Jean or Jean leaning against Neil as they ate or drank coffee or studied the information that Henry and Evan sent them.

“So, wait until Thursday to do this?” Neil asked as he pulled up Sault’s schedule for the week.

Jean considered that as he draped an arm over his lover’s left shoulder; Neil was leaning against his chest with them sprawled out on their bed, the laptop set on top of his long legs. “Let’s see.” He tapped the screen to bring up a different tab, one which listed all of the events in the city that night. “Ah, your precious Dolphins are playing that night.” He hugged the imp when Neil caught his hand and gave it a quick nip before letting it go. “Heathen.”

“Hmm.” Neil tilted his head back to smile up at him, the picture of perfect innocence. “It would be better if it were your darling OMs, I know, but it should still be enough of a distraction since they’re playing Paris.”

Yes, enough people would be out for the Exy game or watching it, making the city livelier than usual… and keeping the police busy. It should also help to slow down Sault’s return to the hotel since it he would be out past the stadium and have to get through all that traffic on his way back.

They made a few more plans before they watched a movie on the laptop then went to bed, and spent the next two days running errands and putting everything into place for Thursday night. When they left the apartment that evening, they were dressed in nice jeans and sweaters that allowed for ease of moment as well as expensive looking coats and leather satchels filled with their ‘tools’, outfits that would allow them to fit in better at the hotel. Jean parked the bike in a different garage and, after a quick kiss, left Neil to make his way to the Sofitel Marseille Vieux-Port.

He acted as if he belonged in the hotel, as if he was returning to his room – actually, he was going to Caron’s room while Evan kept the man occupied up in the bar. He reached the room about three minutes before Neil, who had entered the hotel through the back entrance, and they were quick to bolt the door and get to work.

It was so nice of the Sofitel Marseille Vieux-Port to provide balconies on their higher end rooms.

Jean remained in Caron’s room and kept watch over it and the rope Neil used to lower himself down to the floor where Sault was staying, though he still had to crawl his way two rooms over to their target’s. Once there, it took him less than a minute to break in without leaving a visible trace, and he was back up with the stolen laptop ten minutes later.

They reached the bike twenty minutes after that, and soon handed over the laptop to the go-between Henry had arranged; the woman was dressed in layers of sweatshirts and had her dark blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun and was utterly forgettable, which made her perfect for the job, but she knew what to say upon seeing them and she didn’t try to stab (or shoot) them in the back once the laptop was out of their possession.

Most importantly, the money for the job was already in their account when they reached home and there was a message on Neil’s phone from his uncle Stuart about a ‘good job’. Jean sent a smiley text to Evan to let him know that the job was finished, so the bartender could arrange a time when they would meet up and hand over the rest of the money (Evan preferred being paid in cash).

“So, MI6 or DGSE?” Neil asked when they fell into bed together, quick to tug the blankets around them against the cold.

“Hmm?” Tired even though it wasn’t that late (Jean was always tired after a job, worn out from the stress and the chance that something might happen to Neil), he pulled his lover close until Neil’s head was tucked beneath his chin. “Oh,” he sighed when his befuddled brain finally made sense out of those grouping of letters. “Probably MI6,” he guessed, since he didn’t know why the French external intelligence agency would go through the Hatfords. No, they usually sent Salomon after them when the government wanted something not quite ‘on the up and up’ done.

“Probably,” Neil agreed as he squirmed a little closer against Jean’s chest; for once there was no spark of desire, just contentment at having him safe and secure in Jean’s arms. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

They should be left alone for a day or two, at least by the Hatfords, and they could use a little treat. “La Souk?” Jean offered, well aware that Neil enjoyed the food at the Moroccan restaurant as well as the view. “We could have dinner there and then see where Eloise is playing.” She would be in one of the bars along the sea playing piano for tourists and residents alike.

“Hmm, perfect.” Neil hummed low and pleased like a sleepy cat, which Jean took as a sign that his lover was happy and that it would be an early night for them, one where they could catch up on rest and just enjoy being near each other.

Soon enough they would have to work for the peace they’d found, for their little home with the comfortable bed and the balcony where they drank coffee or tea together during the warmer months, for the large claw-footed tub and everything else which made the drafts in the couple of cold months worthwhile.

Which made the stealing and murder and lying worthwhile. Because it _was_ when Jean lay there with Neil (Nat - _Nathaniel_ , a name rarely spoken anymore and only without inflicting pain by him) in his arms, so loose and trusting. When they looked to the future and had hope of falling asleep wrapped in each other without any nightmares.

*******

“It’s about damn time, Agent Minyard.”

Andrew purposely slurped his sweetened coffee as he stared down his boss, Agent Tony Browning, and took his time sitting down in front of the man’s desk. “My watch says 9:30am,” he drawled after he swallowed and lowered the mug which read ‘I don’t do mornings’.

“9:31am,” Browning bitched as he held up his phone. “You know what? I’m not getting into it with you, not now. Not when I’m about to get _rid_ of you.” Andrew didn’t rise to the bait since Browning had been threatening to transfer him ever since he’d been assigned to the asshole three years ago, right after he’d graduated from Quantico; he doubted he was being fired because despite hating bureaucracy and Browning, he did his job too well.

“I’ve a job for you,” he’d figured that out already, “so after this briefing, be prepared to pack your bags and be gone for a few weeks.” To give him credit, Browning only gloated for a few seconds before concern brought out the premature wrinkles on his middle-aged, narrow face. “Look, this isn’t going to be an easy mission so we require an updated list of contacts, and you need to tell your family and friends that you’re going to be too busy to see them for a while.”

“You know that’s not a problem,” Andrew told him before slurping more coffee. “And it’s the same list as before. What’s the case?” Browning should know better by now.

The concern faded, replaced by something that was almost like approval as Browning settled back into his large leather chair; the older agent was on the thin side, lean muscle mass fading with age and too much time spent behind a desk, so he appeared dwarfed in the chair. “You know about Tetsuji Moriyama, correct?”

That wasn’t a general question, not when everyone on Browning’s team worked the Moriyama ‘case’; Browning had helped put Nathan ‘the Butcher’ Wesninski in prison both times and had been working on getting the serial killer to turn on the Japanese crime family when the bastard had died under ‘mysterious’ circumstances. Andrew had ended up working for the man because of his own connections to the Moriyama crime family and had spent the last three years chasing down the remnants of Wesninski’s organization as well as doing his best to finally pin something on Ichirou Moriyama. _Trying_ being the key word.

“That the kidney transplant – which he shouldn’t have had in the first place – didn’t take and he only has a few months at best? Yeah,” Andrew said between sips of coffee while he did his best not to think about where those kidneys had come from – some ex-Raven? One of the smuggled ‘merchandise’ the Moriyamas were known for in the underground? Another unlucky kid ‘sold’ to them to pay off debts?

Dammit, he wasn’t supposed to think about it, he told himself as he set the rest of his coffee on Browning’s desk, his stomach twisting with acid.

Judging from the way that Browning’s jaw clenched ( _before_ the mug was put down on his precious walnut desk), his boss felt the much the same way. “Yeah, the old fucker is finally on the way out, and it seems that a few of his people are jumping ship in anticipation of Ichirou cleaning house once his uncle is gone. Among them is Gen Cardin, one of his general assistants.” Browning tapped on the tablet laying on his desk then slid it over to Andrew. “He’s been at Evermore for the past eight years or so and left it and the country three days ago from what we could tell. Interpol was kind enough to let us know that he showed up in France yesterday – in Marseille.”

He was quiet while Andrew reviewed the information on the tablet about Cardin, which was enough to indicate that the FBI (at the very least) had been surveilling him for a while. Cardin was half-Japanese and half-French, which explained him running back to Marseille, where his mother had been born, and he’d arrived at Evermore right before Kevin had left. There were indications that he was another ‘owed debt’, though he was a little older than most and hadn’t played Exy.

Still, if that was true then he would have been expected to be property, to be loyal to Tetsuji because he had no other choice, to work for the old bastard without question and for the rest of his life… and so probably knew all about what went on in the Nest and maybe even up in the East Tower.

He may know some things that Tetsuji didn’t want Ichirou to know, and he most _definitely_ knew some things that Tetsuji and Ichirou didn’t want anyone else to know.

It wasn’t often that Andrew left the country for work, but this was tied to a case he was working on and he was damned if he was going to allow Interpol or anyone else get their hands on the Moriyamas first. “Why Marseille?” he asked as he finished reading the details on Cardin, those details now ‘stored’ in his head. “It didn’t say anything about his mother being alive.”

“She’s not.” Browning frowned as he tapped again on the tablet, probably to update the file. “I’m not too sure myself, other than maybe she has some contacts there he can use, that and the police… well, they’re rather ‘flexible’ there,” he said with a great deal of scorn. “It’ll make extraditing him a pain in the ass when they’re all too willing to look the other way or be bought outright.”

Well then, Andrew wouldn’t involve the local police, would he? And if he couldn’t bring Cardin back? There were other ways of getting the information he needed.

The Moriyamas’ criminal empire was coming down one way or another.

He spent a little longer in Browning’s office going over details such as contacts in France before he picked up his mug and left to go book a flight for that evening. Then he ‘tidied’ up the couple of cases he’d been working on, taking the time to add any important notes and put everything together before sending the files over to Adam Town, who used to be Browning’s partner and was the group’s second in command. Town stopped by for a few words (the good thing about the man was that he did keep things to the point) to review the cases and promised to reassign them to the best available agents so that Andrew’s hard work didn’t go to waste and wish Andrew ‘good luck’.

The last thing Andrew did before he left was ensure that he had all the information he needed on Cardin, both physical and digital copies, and the proper documents so he wouldn’t have any problems working in France. He didn’t bother saying ‘goodbye’ to anyone even though he mostly got along with his coworkers (they knew better than to bother him unless it was for work), intent on reaching home so he could pack and then leave.

At least the traffic wasn’t too bad leaving the Baltimore FBI office that time of day, and he lived in a townhouse complex not too far away. Once at home, he grabbed the suitcases set out in the spare ‘bedroom’ and began packing, a couple of suits and lots of clothes he could work in (wander around some unknown city while searching for a criminal). He packed his gun in its protected, locked box in his larger suitcase, along with separate protected boxes for the ammo, and paused as he removed his armbands so he could place them in his carry-on.

He _hated_ flying.

While grabbing the last few items from his bathroom, he placed a call to Kevin, who shouldn’t be busy at practice with the Houston Sirens just yet. He had to leave a voicemail, but the Exy addict returned the call within a minute.

“Andrew? Is everything all right?” Kevin sounded uncertain, but it might be that Andrew rarely called him about anything other than work.

“It’s fine. Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Yeah.” There was a muffled sound, something about coffee – probably Kevin asking his girlfriend and teammate, Thea Muldani, to fetch him a cup. “It’s all right if Thea’s here, right?”

It wasn’t ideal, but the ex-Raven had proven loyal to Kevin. “Depends, I need to know about Gen Cardin,” Andrew told him.

“Oh.” Kevin seemed to think about that. “One moment.” The other line was quiet for a few seconds, then Kevin could be heard thanking Thea and walking, followed by a door closing. “What about Gen?”

“What do you know about him? Tetsuji’s in really bad shape and Cardin fled the Nest. I’m going after him and need information.” Andrew normally didn’t share details about his cases like that, but Kevin was ‘special’ and was considered an informant of sorts; he’d barely survived the Nest himself and had finally managed to escape to PSU and reunite with his father, David Wymack.

PSU, where Andrew played Exy and studied criminal justice on a scholarship. Sometimes Andrew wondered if Renee was right about some things being fated. If so, it only made him hate life even more.

“Okay.” Kevin took a deep breath as if to steady himself. “I only know a little since Gen didn’t play Exy, but he was handed over to Tetsuji.”

“To pay a debt.” Andrew remembered Kevin talking about Wesninski and Moreau, the two kids who’d died in a car crash along with a few other Ravens, the crash which had resulted in Riko’s broken right arm and driven a wedge between him and Kevin; a wedge which had led to Riko breaking Kevin’s left hand years later.

“Yeah, even though Gen couldn’t play Exy. I think it was a matter of someone screwing up or something and not so much money, but I’m not sure. I just know that he worked for Tetsuji and the Ma- ah, Tetsuji kept Riko away from him for some reason. Which wasn’t hard to do, because Gen stuck close to Tetsuji whenever he was in the Nest, that or was in his office.” Kevin paused for a moment. “He also helped with things up in the East Tower.”

Now _that_ was something Andrew wanted to hear. “So he knows a lot.”

“Yeah, I’d bet my second favorite racquet that he knows almost as much as Tetsuji, maybe even more considering how often he was up in the East Tower during games.” Kevin’s voice took on a hoarse tone. “Be careful, Andrew. He’s running for a good reason.”

“You know how much _I_ hate running, so I’m going to make this as quick and effortless as possible.” Kevin actually snorted at that; he’d spent his first year at PSU as an assistant coach while Wymack, Abby and Wilds worked on rehabilitating his left hand so he could hold a racquet again, which meant that Andrew had suffered through the asshole’s ‘unique’ coaching style. It might have worked for those months he’d been an assistant coach for the Ravens, but not so much for the Foxes.

“You know that you actually have to do _some_ work, right?” Kevin said. “Like, chase after him a little?”

“I hope you lose tonight,” Andrew told the asshole before he hung up.

Once everything was packed, he called an uber to take him to Baltimore-Washington Regional rather than have the GS sit in the long-term parking lot for an unknown amount of time. He had to show his badge and permit when checking his bag and then going through security because of the gun, ammo and knives, which was always a pain in the ass. Once through all of that, he went to the VIP lounge near his gate (the perks of flying often for work) and pulled out his phone so he could check the last couple of things off his list before his flight.

He sent Renee a message that he’d be in France for possibly a few weeks and would be busy during that time – i.e. not to worry over his lack of communication and perhaps they could meet up when he was finished with the case. She was still down in Africa for the Peace Corps, at least for a few more months, but lately she tended to head to France whenever she had any time off to hang out with Reynolds, of all people.

Something was going on there, but Andrew was willing to wait for Renee to tell him what when she was ready.

He also sent a few texts to Nicky to let his cousin know that he’d be busy with work and to be mindful of things in the foreseeable future because of said work… which would take place in France. Also, no, he couldn’t come to visit, at least not until the case was finished, but he’d see about a short (emphasis on _short_ ) one when it was done. It wasn’t ideal, but he figured that he might as well see the pest while he was over there and avoid another international flight (much the same reason for meeting up with Renee) if possible – that and he’d be done with his cousin for a few more years.

Nicky (and Erik) were used to his ‘I’m dealing with nasty people, be careful’ messages by now, so Nicky sent back a bunch of emoji about him being ‘near’ but promised to be ‘good’, and that Andrew had basically promised to visit.

Andrew had done no such thing, but it was easier to just ignore such nonsense and move on.

The text he sent to Aaron was short and to the point – out of the country for work, be careful. Aaron didn’t respond, but he probably was on rotation at the Memorial University Medical Center, along with Katelyn, so Andrew didn’t take it ‘personally’ (as if he would in the first place). Not like his twin would say much anyway; they might be technically talking to each other, but they didn’t have much to say. At the moment, they seemed to be hovering in a ‘live and let live’ type of relationship. Emphasis on the ‘let live’ part.

It seemed to work, so Andrew was fine with it.

He did call Bee, though, instead of texting. “Long lunch break?” he asked when she answered instead of it going into voicemail.

“Actually, my one o’clock cancelled,” Bee told him. “How is work?”

“Busy. They’re sending me to France.”

“Either it’s going really well or they’re not thinking things through and didn’t realize they need to exile you farther away.”

“Ha ha,” Andrew said in a deadpan tone. “Don’t give up your day job.”

“I’ve no intentions of doing that. So, which is it?” Bee asked.

“The first, I suppose. I’ve a case in Marseille.” Andrew didn’t elaborate and Bee wouldn’t ask for more details. “Be careful, it’s the usual crowd.”

“I will.” She was quiet for a moment. “Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”

“No, but I’ve a feeling this is going to require some digging so probably a couple of weeks at least,” he admitted as he thought about Browning’s warning in regards to Marseille’s police force and how Cardin had every reason not to be found.

“All right. You know if you need to talk to me at all that you can always call. It’s only a few hours’ time difference.”

Somehow he’d known that she’d offer that since she’d continued their sessions after he’d graduated from PSU. “I’d hope that I’ll be fine for a couple of weeks, but all right.” She was one of the handful of people he could count on.

“You’re welcome, Andrew.”

She talked a little about her week and how Wymack and Abby were doing before he hung up and went in search of a smoking lounge to enjoy a cigarette before the flight. Then it was off to the bar for something to eat and a whiskey, neat (screw it, he technically wasn’t working), and then the joys of flying international in coach.

At least he had an aisle seat next to what appeared to be a harried, low-level business traveler who just wanted to watch the online movies while drinking the free wine, which was fine with Andrew. He pulled out his tablet so he could read and listen to music and had a couple more whiskeys during the non-stop flight, and the two of them ignored each other except the couple of times the woman got up to use the bathroom.

He spent part of the time in the air going over a Beginner’s Guide to French ebook he’d downloaded before leaving Baltimore, just in case the simple phrases might prove useful, before needing a better distraction and switched to a crime novel which Bee had recommended.

Andrew’s luggage was one of the first to come off the plane, which was one of the last bits of luck he had after landing at Charles de Gaulle airport. It was a cold, rainy morning outside, and the traffic was horrible to the US Embassy where ‘Legat Paris’ was stationed on the first floor – the legal attaché office of the FBI.

By the time Andrew reached the embassy, he was tired, annoyed and ready to fly back home. Being splashed by the cab as it drove off didn’t help much, nor did struggling with his luggage into the building surrounded by a high iron gate.

He had to show his credentials several times before he was allowed into Legat Paris, even though they were supposedly expecting him. After almost half an hour, his luggage was stashed into a corner and he was shown to Alan Stafford’s office.

“Agent Minyard, good morning to you.” Alan Stafford was in his late thirties with a solid build and stood just shy of six feet tall, a hint of a French accent to his nasally voice. “Did you have a nice flight?”

“Gen Cardin,” Andrew said as he chose to ignore the questions. “You’re supposed to assist me with the case. Start now.”

“Yes, so wonderful to meet you, too.” Stafford gave him a sour look before motioning him to sit down in front of what looked to be an antique desk. “I’ve arranged for a car for you, though it would be better for you to take the train there-“

“No,” Andrew insisted; his skin was still crawling from the flight, he didn’t want to spend any time on public transportation. “Just hand over everything you’ve set up for me so I can leave. Don’t fuck up and leave anything out.”

Stafford narrowed his dark brown eyes while he folded his hands on top of the desk. “You should get a little rest and allow the morning traffic to pass, and everything will be ready for you when you wake up – the car, a phone, the documents and up to date information on Cardin. There’s a room on the second floor you can use for a couple of hours, how is that?” When Andrew hesitated, Stafford gave him a slight smile. “I can even have some food ready for you when you wake up.”

There was no sense in him wasting time in traffic and if he got a little sleep, he could probably hit the ground running in Marseille, which was the only reason why Andrew agreed. One of Stafford’s assistants, a young woman in a sleek pantsuit who barely paid Andrew any attention, led him to a bedroom suite on the second floor of the embassy where, after locking the door, he took a quick shower and set the alarm on his phone so he could sleep for three hours.

Half an hour after that, he was back in Stafford’s office, where he was given a new phone (his could handle international networks, but he wanted a ‘clean’ one just in case), keys to an apartment in Marseille as well as to a car waiting outside. Andrew’s eyes narrowed at the Peugeot emblem on the keychain.

Stafford noticed that and gave a slight shrug. “We _are_ a government agency,” he reminded Andrew. “Still, it’s reliable.”

There were days when Andrew could stab Renee for daring him to apply to the FBI. “What about Cardin and Marseille?” he asked as he tapped the dossier that the older agent had handed him. “What have you found out? _Anything_?”

Stafford’s faint smile faded away and, after a slight knock on the door to his office, the young woman from earlier came in with a tray of food: a salad which Andrew ignored, some sort of chicken sandwich, a pasta side dish with a creamy sauce, and a cup of coffee with cream and sugar on the side as well as some sort of chocolate filled croissant-like roll (Andrew wondered if something had been mentioned about his love of sweets, if there had been a file on him sent to Stafford).

“Unfortunately, not too much,” Stafford said once Andrew began to tear the sandwich apart and eat. “Cardin is proving to be rather elusive, which makes one believe that he has some help in hiding, perhaps remnants of his mother’s family.”

That or the Moriyamas had already found him, though Andrew would think they’d make an example (a spectacle) of him. “There’s no way to track him down? I thought you were supposed to have some impressive resources here.”

“I didn’t say that.” Stafford nodded to the dossier on the desk, his face tight with constrained anger. “There’s two resources which one of our French associates uses from time to time, and I’ve asked him, as a _favor_ , to… extend their services to us in this situation.”

Andrew considered that as he popped a piece of sandwich into his mouth. “Why would he do that?” He didn’t like ‘favors’, didn’t like the implication that he might be in someone’s debt, either Stafford’s or this ‘associate’.

Unfortunately, he also didn’t like the idea that Cardin might slip away or that he’d miss out on such a rare opportunity to take down the Moriyamas.

“Because while the Moriyamas aren’t as powerful here as they are in the States, they still cause the French government more than enough grief, what with the human trafficking and drug smuggling out of Calais and the various illegal gambling operations throughout the country,” Stafford reminded him. “They’ll be more than happy to see them gone.”

That sounded fair, though Andrew was realistic enough to know that another organization would move in to take the Moriyamas’ place. Perhaps the French government hoped to better control that one (or cut a deal with them), but he supposed he could go along with that for now.

The pasta wasn’t bad so he had a few bites before he asked his next question. “Who are these resources? Will _they_ be of any use?”

“Ah, yes, those two.” Stafford leaned back in his chair and tapped the fingers of his right hand against the lightly scarred wood of his desk as if annoyed. “Neil Josten and Jean-Baptiste Meunier, general jack of all trades when it comes to criminals and supposedly quite good at what they do.”

“And that is?” Andrew asked as he finished fixing his coffee.

“As implied, a little bit of everything, or so I’m told.” The agent shrugged again. “Not that my office has any proof of it, but Salomon says he’s used them for the last several years to fetch a few things which would have proved rather disastrous in the wrong hands, as well as… dissuade some people who needed dissuading. They’re rumored to not stop there, but Salomon would never admit to me in employing them for such a thing.”

‘Jack of all trades’ indeed. “And I’m to trust a pair of murderers and thieves?” Andrew gave the man another flat look as he set aside the empty cup.

That earned him another carefree shrug. “Salomon claims that they can be trusted or else he’d have no use for them. It’s how they survive, after all, by hiring themselves out with the assurance that they’ll do the job and do it well. They complete the task and no one touches them… including the Moriyamas.” He gave Andrew a slight smile at that. “And _rumor_ is that the Moriyamas are very interested in the two for some reason, yet they are rather helpful, having proved useful to so many people which keeps them out of reach.”

“As long as they continue to be useful,” Andrew surmised. Hmm, now wasn’t that interesting?

“Exactly.”

He picked up the pastry and tore off a piece to toss into his mouth, and was pleasantly surprised at its buttery yet chocolate flavor. Stafford must have noticed because he smiled. “Their information, though it is a pittance, is in the file and Salomon will notify them that they will have a new job.”

It would have to do; Andrew had managed other jobs with less help. “If that’s all, I’m leaving,” he said as he began to gather up everything once the pastry was finished.

Stafford let out a slow sigh and shook his head. “Two things, Agent Minyard.” He reached into his desk for a small bag that had French language on it and appeared as if it had come from some shop. “A… welcome gift, if you will. It’s cold out there and this will help you look like a native.” Andrew accepted the bag with reluctance and peered inside to see a bunch of red and blue knit materiel – a scarf, it seemed. “Also, a quick French lesson, since you seemed to take a liking to the pastry – you call it ‘une chocolatine’. That should help when you go to order it.”

Since Andrew hadn’t reached that part of the lessons yet he gave a curt nod as he stood up. Stafford showed him to the door of the office and had the young woman (Lena) take him to where the car (a fucking hatchback – he didn’t care if it was a GT version or not, it was a fucking _hatchback_ ) was parked, and then he was on his own.

There was an address to the apartment in the dossier, and the car’s GPS told him it would take almost eight hours to get there. Andrew didn’t stop until a couple of hours on the road to stock up on cigarettes and snacks, conscious of his weird accent the few times he used his limited French vocabulary (he didn’t care if it was in another language, he still couldn’t say ‘please’ even if it annoyed the locals).

By the time he reached Marseille it was evening, and it took him some time to figure out where he could park near the apartment. It might have been easier to stay at a hotel, but he didn’t know how long he’d be in the city and he much preferred the privacy and security of an apartment (no worries about staff going in and out, of people right on top of him and the open lobbies).

The place turned out to be not too far from some main roads (especially the Boulevard de Dunkerque) and the Mediterranean Sea, a third-floor apartment in a building with pale pink exterior and yellow shutters around the small windows. He was certain that the tourists loved all of the colors and the narrow streets, but he was made somewhat claustrophobic by the surroundings. At least the front door required a security code and the apartment itself was recently remodeled if on the spartan side.

Spartan was fine, as long as the plumbing, heat and electricity worked. There was wifi, the code provided on a small note by the router, and the small fridge was empty.

Andrew spent the night settling in, running out to buy enough food to last a couple of days and a few other necessities, unpacked, made up the simple bed and checked in with Browning. Then he spent a couple of hours going over the layout of the city and whatever information that Stafford had provided him.

He couldn’t uncover much on Josten and Meunier beyond the very bare bones details that Stafford had provided (some jobs they’d worked, possible associates), which meant that the two men had gone to a great deal of effort to stay beneath the radar. Impressive, very impressive, and interesting.

What had they done to offend the Moriyamas? Turned down an offer to work for the organization? Messed up a job? But Stafford said that they survived by doing things right.

Hmm.

He barely got any sleep that night since it was a strange apartment filled with unusual noise and the occasional sound drifting in from outside, not to mention his internal ‘clock’ being all fucked up from the time change. After having a couple of cigarettes and some coffee, he called the number that Stafford had given him for Salomon so the agent could arrange for Andrew to meet up with the two ‘assets’.

“Bonjour, qui est-ce?”

Andrew frowned at the French even though he grasped the meaning of the words. “Andrew Minyard. You should be expecting me to call.”

“Ah, yes, FBI, G-man,” the accented voice said in English, a bit raspy and amused. “You sound even more unpleasant than I’d expected.”

How nice. “Like I give a fuck? Where are Josten and Meunier?”

Salomon sighed on the other end of the phone, an impressively weary sound that dragged on for a couple of seconds. “Yes, unpleasant indeed. You wish for them to do some work for you? Tell me what and I’ll-“

“No,” Andrew said in a flat tone as he cut off the DGSE agent. “Tell me where I can meet them, I don’t want to work through you, I’ll deal with them myself.” He didn’t trust an unknown agent as a go-between when it was bad enough to deal with a couple of criminals – only the fact that he could use the threat of turning them over to the Moriyamas gave him some sort of advantage, considering that he was in a foreign city and country.

In a country where they lived, a city which they seemed to call home.

“They won’t be happy about that,” Salomon warned. “ _I’m_ not happy about that.”

“I don’t care,” Andrew told him. “Do I need to have someone round them up for me? Someone tearing through this city and making it known that they’re doing it on the say-so of an associate of yours?” That was a bit of a bluff, as it would cause too much of a headache and raise a red flag for Andrew to have the (probably corrupt) local police to do such a thing… but if Salomon had done his research on Andrew, he knew Andrew could very well do such a thing just to annoy him in the end.

There was some muttering in French for a few seconds before Salomon cleared his throat. “Unpleasant' isn't a strong enough word. Give me some time to reach out to them. I'll need a few hours."

"I don't-"

"No," the agent snapped, his tone harsh and crackling over the line. "There's some things not even your bad attitude can rush, especially with these two, most certainly not when the Moriyamas are involved. Try to learn some manners while you wait for my next call." Then he hung up.

Andrew was going to be rather tempted to stab Cardin when he finally found him for making him put up with all of this bullshit.

He'd run out for more food and cigarettes and memorized the layout of the city by the time that Salomon called back a few hours later. "They'll be at the Le Petit Renard café on the Rue du Refuge at 10pm," he was told, the man's demeanor more curt than insulting that time. "Look for the two young men in the back corner, one tall, one short."

That wasn't much to go on, but they might be in the habit of obscuring their appearances, Andrew supposed. "Is there anything else I-"

Salomon hung up on him.

Cardin wasn't the only person Andrew wanted to stab at the moment.

He spent the rest of the day going over the various files he'd been given on the case, doing whatever research he could on Meunier and Josten (and still finding next to nothing, even with his clearance, which meant that more than likely they were aliases and the two men very good at either accumulating favors, covering their tracks or not messing up - or all three) and using Google Maps to check out the area around Rue du Refuge.

He arrived at the cafe just a few minutes late, having spent some time checking out the street around it in person yet not wanting to seem as if he was loitering near it in a suspicious manner. He would have preferred to spot Meunier and Josten arrive and learn a little more about them, but he didn't want to scare them and he wasn't entirely sure he'd recognize them, so best to let them settle in, feel comfortable and then approach.

The cafe was small and similar to a few others he'd already seen during his brief time in France - glass windows overlooking the street and tables outside for those willing to brave the cold, about ten tables crammed inside where maybe four people could sit at each one if they didn't mind the closeness (Andrew would), minimal decor yet a sense of liveliness to the place all the same.

Most of the tables were occupied, including the one in the back left corner, where two young men were seated, one tall with black hair and the other at least a head shorter with a black knit cap tugged low which covered most of his hair except for a few stray blondish tips. Andrew caught a flicker of pale eyes before the men appeared to dismiss him and went back to sipping their drinks.

He wove a path through the seated customers and stopped in front of the corner table. "Jean-Baptiste Meunier and Neil Josten," he stated, certain that these were the two 'assets'. "Here or elsewhere?" he asked, uncomfortable with the crowded nature of the cafe.

The taller of the two men gave him a slight sneer while the shorter one propped his chin on his right hand and arched a reddish eyebrow over the iciest pair of blue eyes Andrew had ever seen in person; both men were young, the tall one around Andrew's age at least, and attractive enough to make him think that it might be a set-up.

Just how much had Salomon found out about him, hmm?

“Putain mais dégage le ricain,” tall, dark and scowling muttered to Andrew with a rude gesture thrown in while short, icy and gorgeous smirked, his gaze oddly intent.

Now that didn’t sound very nice, did it? Andrew clicked his tongue as he pulled a nearby empty chair toward the table with his left foot and sat down. “Here it is.”

Now both of them were scowling as short, icy and gorgeous leaned over the table. “You were told to go away.” Andrew noticed that his right hand was beneath the table.

“And Salomon told me that you were helpful.” He caught how both men went still at that remark and wondered if he hadn’t been set up after all. “You’re here to meet with me.”

Scowling and quiet exchanged a quick glance and a quicker spat of French then rose to their feet; Andrew would say that there was about a foot’s difference in their height, and that the shorter of the two young men had a couple of inches on him at least. Also, judging from the speed and smoothness of their movements, they weren’t ones to be easily dismissed in a fight.

“Elsewhere,” the taller of the two barked out as they skirted out from the corner table, his companion bothering to throw some money down on its surface and wave to one of the servers busy with other customers.

Nothing else was said until they were out on the street, where Andrew hurried to button up his black coat and wrap the red and blue scarf around his neck to chase off the chill. He thought he caught a pair of pale blue eyes staring at him while he did so, but when he glanced over, the two men were busy fussing with their coats and thin black gloves, tall, dark and scowling busy fussing with his own scarf (blue and white).

“So who’s Meunier and who’s Josten?” he asked as he tugged free his pack of cigarettes from the front right pocket of his coat.

There was another exchanged look between the two men, whom Andrew noticed stood right next to each other as if unbothered by a little thing called ‘personal space’ – they’d been sitting close in the café, too. “I’m Meunier, now who the hell are you?” tall, dark and scowling asked, his voice deep and English not bad.

“Andrew Minyard.” Oh, now _that_ was an interesting reaction – Meunier went still again as if to not give himself away while Josten remained unaffected. “Let’s just say that I’m a counterpart of Salomon’s back in the States.” He didn’t specify which branch of the government he worked for because it would be to his benefit to let the men wonder just how much pull he had.

“And what does an American such as you want with the two of us?” Josten asked, his tone light but a cruel smile on his lips as he gazed at Andrew, who somehow doubted that he was as young as he looked – too much darkness and depth to those pale blue eyes, too much malice and morbidity in the quirk of that mouth. “We’re not much in the way of tour guides.”

“No, but I think you’ll be very useful in helping me find a stray Raven.” That time they both went still. “One of them flew free from the Nest not too long ago, trying to get away from an upcoming purge, one could say. Flapped his wings and flew to the safest roost he could find, which happens to be your not-so fair city, and I’m in the need of some bloodhounds to track the frightened bird down.” Andrew paused to light his cigarette and took in the shadows that had nothing to do with the dancing flame of his lighter in the two sets of pale eyes regarding him from a few feet away (safely out of arm’s reach) – one light grey, one icy blue. “Bloodhounds that know the Moriyama scent, no?”

They were quiet for a few seconds and then Josten’s grin grew even sharper. “What makes you think we’re going to help you, amerloque?”

How boring. “Because this is the best chance you’ll have to get the Moriyamas off your back.” He wondered yet again what the two of them had done to piss off the family. “Help me find Cardin so he can roll on Tetsuji and Ichirou.”

Both Josten and Meunier scoffed at that statement but they motioned to Andrew to walk with them. “You think it’s that easy? If this person knows so much about them then he’s going to bury himself deep and make whatever deals he can to keep himself alive,” Meunier argued.

“Like you did?” Had the two men worked for the Moriyamas? But hadn’t Stafford said that they’d worked for Salomon for _years_? What would they have done for the Moriyamas when they’d been so young, then?

Something twisted inside of Andrew at the few possibilities he could think of, at what he knew of the Moriyamas, as he watched Meunier hover protectively near Josten whose arms hung a little too loose at his sides; he could spot at least five sheathed knives between the two men and realized that there must be more weapons on them.

If the jab was meant to spur either of the young men into confessing about their connection to the yakuza family, it fell annoyingly short. Instead, Josten’s grin turned amused while Meunier snorted in derision. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about,” the smug bastard lied with a blithe ease.

Andrew gave him a flat look while he took a long drag on his cigarette, the warm smoke held in his lungs as they wandered along Marseille’s streets. “It’s easy – help me find him before Moriyama’s men find him _and_ you.”

Meunier took a threatening step forward, his handsome face twisted in anger, but Josten tugged him back before Andrew had to slip a knife free. “Perhaps,” he said in a nonchalant manner as if unbothered by the thought of the Moriyamas finally getting their hands on the two of them. “But then we won’t do you any good, will we?” He took to smirking again as he pushed his tall friend (just a friend?) in the opposite direction. “We’ll tell you our decision tomorrow, trouduc’.”

“How will I-“

Josten gave him a rude gesture as they walked away, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that Andrew had no other way of contacting them except for Salomon – that or how Andrew was now in the middle of what looked to be a not very good part of Marseille. He glanced around to reorient himself with the mental map in his head and when he looked back at where the two young men had been, they were gone.

He took mental note that they were quick on their feet as well as quiet, and waited until he got back to his car to call Salomon to yell at the prick – no sense in tempting would-be thieves by waving a phone in their faces. Besides, he had a feeling it would be best to keep both hands free for weapons.

Andrew was beginning to hate Marseille.

Though some of its occupants were proving to be interesting.

*******

“That crass bastard, how dare he assume that he can come here and… and… _bah_!” Jean threw his coat onto the one chair and turned to glare at Neil, who sunk down onto their bed and had the audacity to smile. “What!?”

“I always know how much someone got under your skin because of how inarticulate you’ve become,” Neil remarked as he tugged his feet up onto the bed. “That bad, eh?”

Jean’s eyes narrowed as he stalked forward then fell down beside his lover. “Why aren’t _you_ furious, hmm? Because one of your precious Exy stars is harassing us?” He’d have thought that Neil would be plotting the bastard’s death, not sitting there so calmly.

“Hmm, ex-Exy star, and barely that.” Neil smiled at Jean’s scowl and reached out to comb his fingers through Jean’s wind-tousled hair. “He never went on to the pros.”

“Ask me if I care.”

“No, he’s not your precious Dimitri Payet,” Neil teased before his expression turned serious. “This isn’t about Exy, not really, other than the Moriyamas are involved and they’re connected to the game.” His left arm wrapped around his abdomen, around the scars which were hidden beneath the soft material of the knit jersey he’d ‘borrowed’ from Jean to wear that day.

“Andrew Minyard,” Jean said as a distraction. “What do you know about him?” Neil’s fingers had dug into his thigh back into the café to warn him about the agent before Andrew had spoken Salomon’s name, before he’d revealed his own, letting Jean know that Neil had recognized him and was on guard. Letting him know that he was wary but that it wouldn’t be wise to go on the attack right away, which became evident when Jean had realized that the man worked for the US government in some capacity.

Neil cocked his head to the side as he thought about the question. “Minyard, number three when he played for the Palmetto State Foxes.” There was a hint of a smile on his lips when Jean grimaced upon mention of _that_ team and he gave Jean’s hair a quick tug before leaning in for a kiss. “He’s famous for, among other things, turning down the Ravens and beating up four men while in high school, which meant he was forced by court order to take mood-altering medication for several years. General consensus was that he was one of the more fucked up recruits to play for the Foxes, which is why it wasn’t a surprise when he didn’t go on to a pro career despite being more than talented enough, but it was when he managed to join the FBI after graduation.” There was a far-away look in his eyes for a moment. “But the thing that interested me the most was that somehow he kept the Moriyamas from Kevin for several years after Kevin ran away from the Nest.”

Kevin Day. Jean closed his eyes for a moment and lost himself in the gentle feel of Neil’s fingers through his hair rather than think about their childhood friend, about the old guilt of how they’d escaped the Nest and the Moriyamas while Kevin had remained behind. But reality was never too far away, as was the simple truth that if they’d stayed then they’d be long dead (long _tortured_ and dead), and they’d been property while Kevin had been… well, Kevin had existed in some sort of grey area, back at Castle Evermore. Not a Moriyama but not a _thing_ , either, not an equal but more than possession.

Jean had known that Kevin had found a home of sorts with the PSU Foxes because of their coach being his father, had gone on to a successful professional career, but he hadn’t known that Andrew Minyard had been involved in that (he’d done his best to not pay too much attention in the end). “He probably knows a good deal about the Moriyamas, yes?”

“I’d say so,” Neil murmured as he lay down next to Jean. “He did protect Kevin or something, and from what little I can tell, he’s made it his career, going after anything related to them while at the FBI.” He was quiet for a couple of seconds while his gaze grew vacant again. “He went after my father’s people,” he said, his voice so faint that Jean had to struggle to hear it.

Ah, that would explain how Neil knew about the American’s career after leaving the Foxes – Neil (Nat) was mindful to not only pay attention to anything Moriyama-related but anything tied to Nathan Wesninski as well, despite the man having been killed in jail to keep him from making a deal with the Feds. “One wonders what Kevin did to inspire such loyalty from a crass bastard like him,” Jean said with a sniff as he caressed the back of his right hand along his lover’s left cheek.

That wrung a shaky smile from the imp. “You’re just upset because he seems to like the PSG,” Neil teased, alluding to the hideous red and blue scarf which the American had been wearing. “And I don’t know – Kevin only seemed to care about Exy and Riko when we knew him, in that order.”

Then something had happened to come between Kevin and Riko, so had Minyard taken the psychotic prick’s place in Kevin’s life? Jean had caught the way Minyard’s gaze had kept focusing on Neil as if he couldn’t help but have his attention be drawn to Jean’s lover. “I don’t like him.”

“Minyard?” Neil guessed as he closed his eyes and inched closer to Jean. “Understandable. But he’s right in that if something’s happening to Tetsuji,” his voice grew rough as he mentioned their former ‘Master’, “and there’s a possibility of Moriyama secrets being spilled at last, it could be trouble for us – trouble or a chance to take them down. Three guesses which one I’d prefer.” He opened his eyes to gaze up at Jean. “What about you?”

Jean groaned as he threw his arm over his lover’s hip and pulled him even closer. “I think I’m going to have a hard time remembering that we can’t shove a knife between his ribs and dump him in the harbor,” he complained before he kissed a chuckling Neil. “Him and Salomon both.” Damn government agents.

“Hmm, well, nothing wrong with dumping them in the harbor, you just can’t stab them first, I suppose,” Neil murmured as he entangled his legs with Jean’s. “Unless MI6 tells us to do it or something.”

“I may love you, you horrid spawn of hell, but I’m not about to live in a country that considers it the height of fine cuisine to _boil_ things to death,” he insisted as his hands slipped beneath his purloined shirt.

“ _No sense of romance, my star_ ,” Neil complained in English before he nipped at Jean’s chin.

“Hush, the fact that you’re still alive proves that I’m _very_ romantic,” Jean argued before he kissed the bane of his existence silent, then went on to further prove the extent of his ‘romantic’ nature.

Salomon called them the next day, all apologetic (an act, of course) as he proclaimed that he’d no choice but to give Minyard their location the night before and that he ‘hoped’ they’d work with the American agent. For a moment Jean wondered just how bad it would be, living in London… then thought about dealing not only with so many British people on a daily basis but Neil’s family as well and confessed with a weary sigh that they’d decided to assist Minyard in finding the rogue Moriyama employee. Salomon professed his delight and promised to send along some information on both Cardin and Minyard.

Neil’s Uncle Stuart called as well, to give them a warning about the Moriyamas that was a little too late. Still, Jean supposed the important thing was that his lover’s family did their best to look out for the two of them (for Neil at the least). Neil assured the man that they were aware of the situation and taking steps to deal with it, and spent a few minutes talking about his cousins and a potential visit in the near future.

To think that Jean hadn’t believed that things could get any worse, how foolish of him – Moriyamas, a bastard American and now he was about to be inflicted with the ‘in-laws’ quizzing him in person if he was taking good enough care of a certain imp.

Jean used one of their burner phones to leave the American bastard a message of where to meet them later that evening, determined to maintain some anonymity for as long as possible. They took care when preparing to go out because of the increased chance of running to Ichirou's men as well as their meeting with Minyard; Jean was surprised that Neil didn't rattle when he walked, he'd hidden so many knives on his person while Jean took the small Glock with him. They rode the bike down near Fort Saint-Jean for once instead of walking, where they wandered around and had something to eat while they waited for Minyard to arrive, Neil throwing bits of his sandwich to the ever-present seagulls while Jean shook his head over his lover's antics.

They'd stopped by Marco's cart before he packed it up for the night, done selling drinks and snacks to the tourists wanting something warm as they wandered along the docks and walkways near the harbor, and had just reached the MuCEM when a surly American stepped away from the one wall as he flicked aside his cigarette to scowl at them.

“Took you long enough, I’m freezing my ass off here,” Minyard complained.

Neil gave him a bright smile that usually preceded someone being stabbed. “But we had such a difficult decision to make!” he proclaimed as they approached the young man with care; despite his displeased words, Jean noticed the impassive expression on Minyard’s face and how his hazel eyes tracked Neil’s every move, how he seemed almost riveted with Neil and then would catch himself and glance at Jean.

“Help me or fuck off,” Minyard said, his deep voice just as impassive as his expression. “Don’t waste my time.”

“Hmm, I don’t think it’s that simple.” Neil (and Jean) stopped just out of Minyard’s reach; at that time in the evening there weren’t too many people by the museum, not that many tourists interested in Mediterranean culture when the city had so many other pleasures (and vices) to offer, but Neil decided to be a little shit and prove that they had more power than Minyard suspected. “ _You see, I believe you need us more than we need you. After all, we’ve survived quite a while with the Moriyamas after us, whereas this is probably your best chance to take them down, at least anytime soon_ ,” he said in German.

There was a slight twitch to Minyard’s broad shoulders, clothed in a heavy black wool coat and wrapped in that disgusting red and blue PSG scarf, but nothing showed on his handsome face. “ _You know I speak German_.”

“ _We’ve a very beneficial working relationship with Salomon_ ,” Neil explained with that cruel grin of his. “ _Also, less of a chance of us being understood than if we speak English, but not guaranteed_.”

Minyard’s expression took on a hint of interest as he gazed at Neil, which disturbed Jean for some reason even though he was used to people being intrigued by his lover. “ _Perhaps this won’t be as boring as I thought. Well? What did you and your overgrown shadow over there decide? You don’t put on a show unless there’s a reason. Enlighten me_ ,” he said as he folded his arms over his chest.

Neil continued to smile as Jean shifted forward. “ _You don’t order us around. We don’t work for you, **we’re** the ones who know this city and its people, its customs so you listen to **us**_ ,” Jean told him, unwilling to have Minyard’s attention focused on Neil any longer.

The bastard’s hazel eyes narrowed at that and he was quiet as if considering. “ _We work **together**. I need to know what’s going on, need to be there in case I can use something against those bastards_.”

Jean had never considered his life blessed, but he was beginning to wonder what he’d done for it to take such an ominous turn as of late. “ _We can do this much faster if you_ -“

“No,” the bastard insisted in that flat, rude manner of his. “ _Together or I use you two as a lure and go after Cardin while the Moriyamas have their people chase you all over the city_.”

Neil’s smile would have done his father proud right then – the sight of it made Minyard frown and his thick blond brows draw into a sharp ‘v’ as if he struggled to place it. “ _Turn us in and we’ll buy our way out of the city with the skin of a federal agent. That’ll get us safe passage even from **them**_.”

The two men stared each other down for several seconds, icy blue locked on golden hazel, until Minyard clicked his tongue. “Together. Those pricks win if we take each other out. I can put up with your prissy French asses just to prevent that.”

Neil made a low growling sound before he huffed then glanced at Jean, who gave a curt nod. “Together, though skinning you is _not_ off the table.” Jean could live with that.

Minyard snorted in derision as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the front right pocket of his winter coat. “I’ll snap your scrawny neck.” He gave Neil another appraising look, one which convinced Jean that he wasn’t imagining things… and one which Neil didn’t seem to recognize. Then again, the imp was busy giving the presumptuous American a rude gesture at the time. “Enough with standing outside, it’s damn cold,” Minyard complained as he walked away. “Let’s go somewhere warm and where I can order a coffee and… ah, une chocolatine.”

Jean had put up with an awful lot that day even before meeting up with an obnoxious American who had just threatened him and his lover. Add on the additional insults to his beloved language, home team and boyfriend and it was… it was too much.

He’d had enough.

He took a few long strides away from Neil, who gave him a curious look which quickly turned into delight as Jean reached out to Minyard, who didn’t seem to realize just how close he was to the edge of the walkway beside the harbor since his attention was on lighting a cigarette. “Oops,” Jean said in an innocent tone as he ‘accidentally’ pushed the bastard over the edge and into the harbor. Into the very cold and very foul-smelling water. “Be careful!”

It had been childish and Jean was certain that a now cursing Minyard (and wet, _very_ wet) would do his best to get back at him for that action… but he refused to regret it as he grabbed a laughing Neil by the hand and pulled him away from the edge of the dock while various strangers rushed forward to aid a certain bastard American.

*******

Neil made some coffee for Jean and himself once they returned to their apartment. “Do you feel better now?” he asked as he handed a mug of the beverage to his lover.

Jean gave him nonchalant look for several seconds before it crumbled, replaced by a hint of guilt buried beneath indignation. “He was being an asshole.”

“ _He_ is an American government agent and here on a case,” Neil reminded the stubborn fool. “A case involving the Moriyamas and Salomon gave him our names, which makes it double important to us.” When the indignation began to fade, Neil sighed and urged Jean to sit down on the couch so he could sit next to him. “I agree that Minyard is an abrasive ass, but do you really want to pass on a chance to hurt the Moriyamas?” His hands clenched around the mug despite its heat as he thought about a chance to make Riko and Tetsuji pay after so long, to weaken Ichirou.

Jean and Neil may have escaped the Nest years ago, but its shadow still loomed over them to that day – they still bore its scars, still woke from the nightmares inflicted upon them in that hellhole (though not as often), lived a life restrained because of the Moriyama family. They weren’t free to go wherever they wanted and just… just _live_ , just _be_ , not with the debts they owed and the blood on their hands.

Neil didn’t regret what he’d done, but he detested that he’d had no other choice, that he and Jean had been sold off in the first place and were still considered wayward assets. They always would be, until the Moriyamas were no more.

“I don’t want to pass on this opportunity,” he explained as he gazed up at his lover through his bangs. “Even if we have to work with the most arrogant prick imaginable, I want to find Cardin and watch him tear the Moriyamas apart with his testimony.”

Jean was quiet as he breathed on his coffee to cool it down a little then he set it aside with a wan smile as he reached out to cup the side of Neil’s face with his warm right hand. “It may just come to that – the ‘most arrogant prick’ part, you know.” He chuckled when Neil grimaced. “Minyard annoys me, and no, it’s not just his seeming preference for awful teams, among other things, so hush you terrible imp.” He grew thoughtful as Neil also blew on his coffee to cool it down. “Yet he also strikes me as intelligent, which would explain why they sent someone so young here for an important job.” The look he gave Neil just then was worried. “He seemed drawn to you, kept staring at you.”

“So? A lot of people stare at me, especially when I work as a distraction,” Neil countered with a smirk, even as something about that statement made him feel… hmm. He did find Minyard abrasive, but on the whole, he didn’t have the same problems with the American that his lover did.

 “That’s not what I meant,” Jean said while rolling his eyes. “Or at least, not quite. He looks at you with more intent than that, as if trying to figure you out. What if he recognizes you? He did spend all that time with Kevin, after all.”

That… that made Neil’s heart race and breath stutter for a moment, someone knowing about _Nathaniel_ … but the past was never too far away, not with Ichirou and Tetsuji sending the occasional lackey after them. Not when Salomon and Lloyd and the other agents who used their ‘services’ knew why Jean and Neil were so ‘reliable’ (come through or be ‘outed’).

“Then we see what he does with that information,” Neil settled on after a bit of internal deliberation. “If he continues to be unbearable or he tries to use our pasts against us, then we move after Cardin on our own.” They had enough contacts that they could hand the man over to someone trustworthy who would ensure that he’d testify against the Moriyamas one way or the other. It might even work out to their benefit that way, too.

Jean’s brow was furrowed as he considered that while he reached for his coffee, and after a careful sip or two he nodded. “I suppose we should head back out and ask around if anyone’s seen Cardin, start laying down feelers.” He frowned when Neil shook his head. “What? No?”

“I think it’s good that _you_ do that, but I’m going to grab some food.” That made Jean’s frown deepen since they’d already eaten. “Something to help stave off a cold, something possibly brought on from an unexpected dunking in freezing water?” He arched his eyebrows as he regarded his lover over the rim of the mug.

They regarded each other for several seconds before Jean clicked his tongue and glanced aside. “I suppose the arrogant bastard wouldn’t be pleased to see me right away.”

“No, which is why _I’m_ going with a peace offering of sorts.”

Jean’s shoulders tightened and his lips pressed together, a sure sign that he wasn’t happy with the plan. “I’d prefer to be there,” he admitted after a moment.

“And I wouldn’t mind to have you there,” Neil agreed. “But if we’re to work with the man, we need to… oh, mend bridges, you could say. I think that’ll happen better if you’re not around at first.” Minyard didn’t strike Neil as the very forgiving type, but he was willing to bet that the man would do what needed to be done to catch Cardin.

He had to give credit where credit was due, and Jean could certainly do a look of long suffering to put most people to shame (and make them _feel_ shame). “Very well. I do hope you stab the bastard if he gives you any grief.”

“Of course, just for you,” Neil promised as he leaned forward and up to give his lover a kiss.

“Hmph.” Jean didn’t sound pleased, yet he once more cupped Neil’s face and held him still to deepen the kiss before complaining as he let go about having to deal with bastard Americans.

It probably was a good thing that Jean and Minyard weren’t dealing with each other the rest of that night.

*******

Andrew glared at the message on his phone from Salomon; the coward didn’t have the simple curtesy to call him, choosing instead to send him a message that he was unwilling to send someone of Andrew’s security ‘clearance’ (or lack of clearance) the information he requested on Meunier and Josten. In other words, there was no way the DGSE agent would tell him where the two criminals lived or their real names.

Well, good thing Andrew had other sources available to him.

He poured himself another cup of strong coffee and, after dumping enough sugar and cream in it, gulped half of it down in an attempt to wash out the taste of foul harbor water and ward off a chill he still felt in his bones (he _hated_ the cold, even after the last couple of years spent living in Baltimore with its less temperate winters than South Carolina) after his unexpected soaking. While he did that, he dialed Kevin’s phone number, grateful for the time difference and that the Exy addict didn’t have a game that day.

“Andrew? I thought you were on a case,” Kevin answered after the fourth ring, confusion plain in his voice. “Is it done already? Did you find Cardin yet?”

“No.” Andrew paused to light a cigarette. “I need some more information from you.”

“Uhm, okay. One sec.” There was a clanking sound in the background which made Andrew suspect that he’d interrupted his old friend during a work-out session; good old Kevin Day, ever the overachiever who never believed in an ‘off-day’, hence his name. One could also call him a ‘Pain In The Ass’ and ‘Annoying Fuck’, but for some reason, his mother had decided against those choices.

“Okay, what is it?”

At least he was oh so willing to participate in story-time, so one had to put up with the good and the bad, Andrew supposed. “What do you remember about Jean Moreau and Nathaniel Wesninski?”

“Eh?” It sounded as if the question had thrown Kevin for a mental stumble, but as always, he recovered quickly (unless Riko and Tetsuji were directly involved). “Ah… well, they were partners,” Kevin began, his tone quiet and hesitant and then slowly growing more certain. “Nathaniel was Nathan Wesninski’s only child and arrived at Castle Evermore when he was ten and Riko and I were almost thirteen. I think… _no_ , as hard as Tetsuji was on him to improve, to be one of the best backliners, he preferred being there rather than with his father,” Kevin admitted. “He was covered in scars from what Nathan did to him.”

“What kind of scars?” Andrew asked as he settled on a counter and used an empty mug as an ashtray.

“They looked to be from knives and there were a couple of burns.” Kevin was quiet for a moment. “Even one from an iron on his shoulder. All over his chest and a couple on his back… well, Riko added to them, too, because Nathaniel… he never learned to keep his mouth shut. He had a bit of an attitude problem.”

Hmm, who did that sound like, Andrew wondered as he thought about psycho Riko taking a knife to a kid. “And Moreau?”

“He showed up a year later and was paired with Nathaniel, and at first it was a mess.” Kevin’s voice grew tight in pain. “Jean fought back against Riko and Tetsuji, wouldn’t listen to them or practice or… it was a mess.”

Gee, why would a kid be upset over being handed to a pair of sadistic bastards as property? “What happened?” Andrew prodded. “You said ‘at first’.” What made Moreau toe the line?

“I don’t… I don’t know.” It was quiet over the line for a couple of seconds then Kevin sighed. “One day Jean and Nathaniel… well, Nathaniel never quite learned to keep his mouth shut, to really obey Riko, but they were better. They functioned as a pair, worked well together and watched out for each other.” He gave a bitter laugh. “They had each other’s backs in a way Riko never had mine. But then again, Riko was always on them so I guess it made sense, the way they drew in to protect each other. The only thing I could never figure out was why they were in that van with Riko and the others the night they died. But Riko would go off alone sometimes.”

And Kevin, ever the faithful little lackey, the good ‘partner’, the well-trained number ‘2’, had never thought to question such a thing, right? “What had happened that day?”

“Uhm….” It was clear that Kevin struggled to remember. “Oh, yeah, we got in trouble with the- ah, Tetsuji because Nathaniel and Jean blocked us from scoring enough points on the goal.” There was another loaded pause. “Maybe… maybe Riko was doing something about that when the accident happened?”

It required a good bit of control to hold back the scathing comment that Andrew wanted to make right then; he knew that Kevin had survived the Nest because of his almost inhuman focus on Exy, on putting everything he had into the sport to avoid Tetsuji’s abusive disapproval… only to have his foster brother turn on him. It was only then that he seemed to realize what a twisted fuck Riko had grown into over the years, to be able to look back and see the evil which had festered in Castle Evermore the entire time.

Andrew still wanted to click his tongue and say something along the lines of ‘no shit’, though.

While Andrew struggled to control his sarcastic impulses, Kevin made a curious noise. “What do Jean and Nathaniel have to do with Cardin? They died long before he showed up at Castle Evermore.”

Did they?

“Moreau’s from Marseille,” was what Andrew settled on as he stubbed out his cigarette. “There may be a connection here. Do you have any pictures of the two?”

“Oh, so you can track down his family? Sorry, but I don’t.” Kevin sounded regretful over that fact. “We weren’t allowed personal effects like that, and even if I did, they would have been left behind.”

Andrew clicked his tongue in annoyance and when he didn’t ask any more questions, Kevin prattled on about the latest games that the Sirens had played for a couple of minutes before Andrew ended the call. He sat on the counter for a few more minutes with his phone held in his hand and his thoughts whirling around in his head before he jumped down, fixed himself a glass of whiskey and went over to his laptop.

It took him over fifteen minutes to find _two_ pictures of Jean Moreau, given how long ago they’d been taken and the young man’s ‘official’ passing. There was a blur of red hair and a bit of black and red uniform in the background, the only bit of Nathaniel Wesninski that Andrew could unearth (other than a small blurb in regards to his death), but Jean Moreau had been featured in the pictures with Riko and Kevin since he was of the same age as them.

Well, that and he wasn’t the only son of a rumored criminal.

Jean Moreau had been a tall, lanky young man with pale skin, black hair cut close on the sides of his head and left longer on top with the bangs falling onto his grey eyes – eyes that looked much too old for what probably was around fifteen years of age, judging from the date of the picture. Andrew studied the photo and could easily match the bone structure and grey eyes to a certain French prick who’d pushed him into the harbor a few hours ago.

Meunier was rather solid for a ghost.

Since there wasn’t anything of Nathaniel Wesninski on the net, Andrew pulled up the next best thing, even though the images were long burned into his mind – Nathan Wesninski. Some considered the Butcher of Baltimore to be a handsome man (if one liked sadistic serial killers, which some sick fucks did), and from a _purely_ analytical standpoint Andrew could gaze upon Wesninski’s face and understand the attraction. There were the high cheekbones and full lips, that striking coloring. Too bad there was no light of emotion in those pale blue eyes and that damn evil smile on those lips.

The same smile he’d seen hovering on Josten lips for a moment or two, the same pale blue eyes albeit with emotion shining bright inside of them (anger and amusement and darkness, such a dangerous combination).

Neil Josten wasn’t a carbon copy of Nathan Wesninski, not quite; he lacked the man’s height and solid build, possessed a more angular face with an upturned nose. When Andrew pulled up an old file that contained a rare picture of Mary Hatford (her passport photo), those changes made sense since she’d been on the slight side.

Now perhaps Andrew had inhaled too much filthy water and was coming down with a fever on top of it, perhaps he’d finally snapped from too much work and chasing after Moriyamas for too long. One could overreach in an attempt to make the pieces fit, to find connections one could use to put away the pricks at last – it had happened to a lot of agents over the years, was something they all were warned about in training. Moreau and Wesninski had been declared dead years ago.

But the Moriyamas were notorious liars as well as murderers and thieves. One took them at their word at one’s own risk.

Meunier and Josten had been in Marseille, Moreau’s old hometown, for _years_ – from the sounds of it, not long after the two ex-Ravens had ‘died’ (Andrew refused to think about two young men cast adrift in the city’s underworld like that). He’d been told that they’d made themselves useful, and it was because of that the Moriyamas left them alone. That the young men would be only too happy to see the Moriyamas hurt.

If they had run away from the Nest, then Andrew was certain that the Moriyamas would want them back, that they would need to do whatever they could to keep the Moriyamas at bay.

They would be a valuable asset to his case, to finding Cardin.

 _Why_ were they in Marseille? Yes, Moreau had been born here, but what about the Hatfords in the UK? Had Wesninski’s family turned their back on him like they’d done to his mother?

Andrew hated it when he had more questions than answers. He also hated it when he had no way of contacting the two young men except through Salomon.

Frustrated and still feeling chilled, he finished the whiskey and decided to take another shower, hoping that would warm him up and perhaps clear his head a little. Perhaps afterward he’d feel up to wandering around the city to see if he could spot the two bastards, check out the one café again or ask around to narrow down where they lived.

It took forever for the water to warm up, but at least it was nice and hot when he stepped beneath it. He did his best to clear his mind as he braced his scarred forearms against the tiled walls in front of him, but for some reason the image of a laughing Josten kept creeping back in, the sight of the young man with those pale eyes bright with mirth, dressed in the ridiculous over-large jacket and locks of hair poking out from the black cap.

Dammit, why did Andrew’s two best leads on this case have to be two very attractive young men? Even Meunier was appealing as hell with those shoulders of his and the pale grey eyes, despite being a tall, dour prick.

He refused to jerk off in the shower (or at least refused to do so then), all too aware of the clock ticking and how the Moriyamas had to have people out there looking for Cardin, and forced himself to turn off the hot water then to dry himself with a less than adequately soft towel.

As soon as he stepped out into the main room of the apartment, he realized that something was ‘off’ and fumbled for a blade while he glanced around, inwardly cursing himself for leaving his gun near his laptop. Why had he relied on an unfamiliar alarm system? Why had he-

Neil Josten was sitting on the desk with a smile on his face and what appeared to be a take-out bag next to Andrew’s holstered gun. “Oh, you look well,” he said while holding Andrew’s laptop up as an improvised shield, which was what kept him from having a knife thrown his way. “Was afraid you’d be curled up in bed or something.”

Perhaps Andrew had a fever after all and was hallucinating right then. “You’re here.”

“Yep.” Josten cocked his head to the side as he regarded Andrew and frowned. “What’s a Hufflepuff?”

Andrew nearly stabbed himself in the head before he remembered the knife in his hand and decided that if Josten was there to kill him, he could go ahead and do it and apparently save him from explaining the Harry Potter series as well as _Nicky’s_ weird sense of humor. “Present from my cousin.” Of course he had to grab _that_ comfortable t-shirt to wear since he hadn’t expected company. “Now it’s your turn, why are you here?”

Josten lowered the laptop since the knife was put away and smiled even brighter. “I brought you something to warm you up after… well, didn’t want you to get sick. There’s some doro wat in there.” When Andrew just stared at him, he sighed. “It’s a type of chicken stew.”

Yes, Andrew could smell the spices from across the room and had to admit that it made his mouth water. “And? Any poisons or drugs?”

Josten rolled his eyes as he jumped down from the desk. “If I wanted you dead, I could have spiked something in your pantry while you were in the shower then left without you knowing, that alarm is pathetic.”

“So what, you’re trying to make up to me the fact that your partner shoved me into the harbor?” Andrew asked as he approached the desk then rummaged through the bag; he noticed that Neil didn’t react to the word ‘partner’.

“Eh, Jean’s a bit protective and didn’t like your attitude,” Josten explained as he wandered through the main room, his French accent less prominent than Meunier’s. He wasn’t wearing the suede coat at the moment, just a pair of dark jeans ripped at the knees and a sweater only two sizes too big, which lessened the effect of him appearing so young, especially with his auburn hair pushed back from his too-attractive face. “We talked about it and he’s out looking into Cardin while I’m here with an edible olive branch of sorts.”

“And snooping.” There was a large container of the stew, which seemed to be chicken and eggs of all things as well as a foil package of some sort of soft flatbread. Grabbing the plastic spoon from the bag, Andrew tried a mouthful of the stew and decided… huh. Not bad at all. Definitely enough of a kick to help warm him up.

Josten merely shrugged as he continued to peek around.

“So the two of you have been partners for years, right?” Andrew asked as he hopped up onto the desk then broke off a piece of the bread to dip into the stew and received another shrug. “Since Evermore, right, _Nathaniel_?”

At first Josten didn’t react, he merely continued to examine some print-outs Andrew had left on the one end table. Then he spun around with the coldest expression on his face that Andrew had seen in years, his eyes like ice and full of darkness. “I don’t like that name.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Is there a point to it? You sound rather certain,” Josten pointed out. “It’s a good thing Jean’s not here, since you’d be going out a window this time.”

“He got his one chance to surprise me,” Andrew stated with a slight sneer. “If he tries such a thing again, he’ll be stabbed.”

“You hurt Jean and the Moriyamas will have one less problem to deal with,” Josten told him with no uncertainty.

“I thought you didn’t work for them,” Andrew drawled as he set the stew aside. “Or did they let you go after all? Should I make a call after a-“

It wasn’t often when he was surprised, especially not twice in one day, but one moment Josten was standing a few feet away and the next he was a hell of a lot closer with a gun pointed right at Andrew’s face. “You threaten us with the Moriyamas again and you’ll be lucky to have enough brains left to figure out how to breathe,” the redhead warned as he undid the safety.

Somehow, Andrew didn’t think his ‘guest’ would just stand there while he went for his gun or knives. “Now you’re being rude.” Why hadn’t he stabbed the bastard when he had the chance?

“I’ll survive your disappointment somehow,” Josten said as he continued to stare Andrew down. “You’re not supposed to be working for the Moriyamas. You kept Day away from them and everything, put some of my father’s people behind bars.”

Someone had studied up on Andrew, hadn’t they? “You’re not denying that you’re Na- that you’re Nathan Wesninski’s son,” Andrew corrected when those blue eyes narrowed.

“It’s not the biggest secret,” Josten said and, after a couple of seconds, redid the safety and stepped back but kept the gun leveled on Andrew. “Who told you?”

“No one, I figured it out for myself.” He thought he caught a gleam of interest in those pale eyes for a moment. “How did you leave the Nest? Kevin told me that you and Moreau were property, which means that you should still belong to the Moriyamas, just like Cardin.”

Josten was still for a heartbeat or two before he gave a bitter laugh then retreated further away until he could sit in one of the windows, his gaze intent on Andrew but the gun now held in his lap; Andrew took that as a sign that he could resume eating. “Jean and I… well, we did our best to please Tetsuji but _Riko_ ,” that name was spoken with a wealth of hatred, “was a different animal entirely.” His left hand drifted up to rub at his chest for a moment. “We managed to upset him the one day, which wasn’t new, and he came to our room to… he liked to put us in our place.” The darkness was back in Josten’s pretty eyes, darkness and something awful, something Andrew had seen in his own eyes all too often. “Him and several older Ravens. It… it didn’t go well.” Josten glanced down at the gun for a precious moment then resumed gazing at Andrew in a clear sign of distrust. “That time I was armed and I wasn’t willing to allow them to keep hurting Jean, so the story about the car accident was to deal with the mess we left behind, more or less.”

Josten – Wesninski had to have been thirteen or fourteen at the time, yet he’d taken down four adults and Riko Moriyama (he’d said that _he’d_ been armed, which implied that he’d been the main instigator in whatever had happened). Andrew supposed that the apple didn’t far very far from the Butcher’s tree, though Josten couldn’t be the monster that his father had been if Salomon and the others were willing to deal with him. “How did you get out of the country and end up in Marseille?”

All Josten did was give him a lopsided smile, which made Andrew wonder if the Hatfords weren’t a part of things after all – usually people clammed up like that when blood or other important ties were involved. But why hadn’t the Hatfords taken in their wayward ‘child’? Because of the Moriyamas? Or had Josten wanted to stand on his own?

“The Moriyamas actually leave you alone? After attacking one of their own?” Andrew asked with obvious disbelief, which made Josten’s smile take on a sardonic edge.

“Well, they don’t have much of a choice when we’ve people willing to run interference for us. If we were still in the States it would be one thing, but we’re all the way out here.” Then Josten began to nibble on his full lower lip. “At least, we were too much of a hassle until Cardin showed up, which is why Jean’s out asking questions and I’m here making sure you’re not sick with pneumonia or something. The sooner we find the bastard, the better.”

Yes, Andrew imagined that the last thing the two ex-Ravens wanted was for some Moriyama lackey to take the initiative and decide to send three ‘presents’ back to Ichirou rather than just one.

He grunted to show that it was about damn time that the two young men were on board and continued eating. Josten gave him a wary look for a few seconds before he shrugged yet again and put the gun away; Andrew watched and caught sight of where the weapon was holstered, which was the small of Josten’s back, hidden in part by the large sweater.

It was quiet while Andrew finished the stew; when he was about halfway through the container, Josten pulled out his phone and began texting someone, probably Meunier - Moreau. Andrew wanted to ask what was going on between the two young men, if all they were to each other were friends, a holdover from the Ravens’ partner system, but something told him that he’d shouldn’t push too much at once.

“Jean’s gotten some feelers out,” Josten told him once the stew was gone. “I hope you’re prepared to spend a little money while you’re here, because unless you’re willing to have us break a few fingers or worse, which tends to draw attention, it’s going to cost when people turn up with some information.”

The FBI did pay for leads, as long as it was worthwhile in the end. “Do you trust these informants?”

Josten appeared big on shrugging, which Andrew supposed was a way of answering without giving too much away. When Andrew continued to gaze at him in a bland manner, the redhead sighed and elaborated. “We’ve worked with them long enough that it’s beneficial to both sides.”

It seemed that Josten wasn’t one to trust lightly, which was good to know – neither was Andrew. “What’s our next step?” Usually Andrew had everything planned out, but he was in an unfamiliar country without the usual support structure in place. It was one of those times when he had to be ‘flexible’.

He detested being ‘flexible’.

Still, the question appeared to put Josten at ease the slightest bit. “Well, I would imagine that you’d want to change and then we go meet up with Jean.” He gave an amused look at Andrew’s t-shirt, his attention lingering for a moment on Andrew’s chest, the expression turning derisive for some reason when it glanced at the scarf draped over the back of the couch to dry.

Come to think about it, Meunier had been sneering at the article of clothing earlier, hadn’t he? Andrew had to wonder if Stafford’s gift had a hidden, barbed meaning behind it.

“Give me a few minutes.” He threw out the containers from his late dinner on his way to the bedroom, where he locked the door, and hurried to get dressed in black jeans, a thick sweater, ankle boots and grabbed his spare coat since his other one was still hanging in the shower to dry.

At least his gun hadn’t been ruined, though it had been a bitch to take apart, dry and re-oil.

Josten was still in the same place as before, though he’d put back on his coat and the black cap while waiting for Andrew. When he saw Andrew reach for his car keys, he shook his head. “No, easier to walk and take public transportation,” he said. “It’ll help you to learn the city and your car will stand out too much in some of the places we’re going.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at that. “It’s not a small city.”

“Consider it good exercise,” Josten told him with a sweet tone and smirk. “You Americans and your beloved cars, why do you think you have feet?”

“To accelerate the gas pedals and kick French asses.”

“Hmm, only if you can catch us.” Josten used that impressive speed of his to dance around Andrew and reach the door first. “You make such easy marks, we can always tell you for the tourists you are.”

Andrew waited until they were out of the apartment (with it locked and the alarm back on) to speak again. “But you’re an American, or part one,” he reminded his colleague for the foreseeable future.

Josten’s smile faded away and the darkness returned (Andrew realized it was never far from the surface). “That life… it’s _gone_ ,” he insisted in a ragged voice. “I was always more my mother’s child than my father’s, it’s why he sold me off.” Then a bitter laugh spilled past his lips as he gazed at his hands half-hidden by the ridiculously long sleeves of the suede bomber jacket. “Well, mostly my mother’s child.” He glanced at Andrew with a twisted smile on his lips and the glassiness of one who’d seen too much horror in his eyes. “You’re the one who took down those putains, the Malcolms, aren’t you?”

Andrew had put Romero in jail and shot Lola to death since she’d ‘refused’ (tried to eviscerate him) to go into custody quietly. “Yes.” Well, technically he’d had assistance with the case, but he’d put in the most effort, had found the evidence which had been enough to finally make the charges stick.

“Good.” That was all Josten said, and for a moment that smile reminded Andrew of Nathan Wesninski’s, then Josten drew in a shuddering breath and once more appeared nothing more than a slightly smiling young man little more than a teenager who’d break your heart before he’d rob you blind or leave you bleeding out on the pavement.

Andrew was beginning to suspect that Neil Josten nee Nathaniel Wesninski was more dangerous than Nathan Wesninski had ever been, in more ways than one.

*******

Jean stood by Minyard while Neil did his ‘charm’ assault on a couple of patrons at Fleur D'Oranger, all big blue eyes glancing up through thick lashes and shy smiles and such preposterousness that Jean wanted to scoff loud enough to make his throat hurt.

“How does he get away with it?” Minyard asked as he gazed at the farce taking place in front of them.

“I’ve not a clue,” Jean admitted. “And honestly? I don’t think he knows what he’s doing half the time, either, which is probably why it works – they sense he’s not being false even if he has no intention of leaving with them. He just plays along, doing what he’s seen others do in the past and feeding off their reactions, and somehow it seems to work.”

Minyard gave him a side glance for that confession. “You make him seem to be some sort of idiot savant when it comes to this stuff.” When Jean didn’t respond, he gave a soft grunt. “So how do you just stand there and watch, hmm? You two are together, right?”

Jean didn’t think it was worth the effort to argue, especially since the American bastard was so observant. Especially since he preferred for Minyard to know that he should keep his hands to himself. “Yes, we are, and it’s not a problem because he’s not interested in them. All he’s doing is a means to an end.”

“You sound rather certain.”

“I am. Neil’s not like most people, I’d think that you’d have realized that these last few days.”

“Hmm.” Minyard didn’t ‘say’ anything more than that, but his expression was thoughtful and that had been an awful lot of personal questions from a man who didn’t tend to talk much about anything not work related.

He certainly didn’t talk much about his own personal life – well, unless _Neil_ asked, and even then he was sparse with the details.

Neil’s laughter rang out through the bar; when Jean gazed at his lover, he caught the small hand signal which meant that the sneaky little bastard was about to excuse himself to use the bathroom and then disappear. “Come on,” he told Minyard, “pay the tab because we’re leaving.”

Minyard gave him level look as if to make sure he wasn’t joking before he pulled some Euros out of his wallet and left them on the bar, the right amount to cover their tab so far for the evening. Once that was done, they pulled on their coats and headed for the door without a backward glance.

Neil caught up to them about ten minutes later, in a small café where Minyard was having one of his beloved pastries and a coffee (upon finding out the extent of how his one colleague had set him up, Jean had the impression that Minyard was looking forward to his debriefing in Paris before he left for Baltimore). “Well?” he demanded to know as he set the mug aside.

“You’re more than welcome,” Neil replied, his tone thick with sarcasm as he set a burner phone that he must have used to record the conversations with the two men and woman back at the bar down on the table. “There’s been mention of a Savary, that this person’s looking for good people and pays well but he’s strict and there’s little downtime. The guys were out tonight to have some fun before they went to apply for a job. This isn’t the first time we’ve come across Savary.”

“No, it isn’t,” Minyard commented. “Seems to me if someone’s wanting to shake things up here, if they feel they have their hands on something that could shift the balance of power, they’d need people.”

“And Cardin could be just that ‘something’,” Neil surmised. “Savary might want to either form an alliance with the Moriyamas by handing him over or with someone else to help take them down.”

It made sense to Jean, now the task would be to track down this ‘Savary’. “I don’t suppose you managed to get an address or phone number for this guy?”

“Since when do I have to do all of the work?” Neil asked as he leaned against him. “It’s time for you to do more than just stand around looking all tall and pretty.”

Jean gave him a haughty look while he reached for the rim of the black cap to tug down over the imp’s face. “And you are a curse sent to plague me.”

“Enough with the flirting,” Minyard chided as he tucked the phone away, “what about your amazing contacts?” That seemed to be directed at Jean.

By way of answer, Jean held up his middle finger while Neil sighed. “It’s being worked on,” Neil said as he swatted at Jean’s hand. “ _You’re being a child_.”

“ _And he’s much better_?”

“ _No, but he’s not the one who I expect to act like an old man_ ,” Neil argued.

Jean’s back stiffened as he snatched at his lover’s hand and pulled him close. “ _This ‘old man’ can have you_ -“

“I may not know more than a few phrases of the language, but I can tell when I’m being talked about,” Minyard drawled. “And pick up on when things are moving away from work.” He gave them what appeared to be a bored look, but once again Jean noticed when his attention lingered on Neil a beat too long. “What is it?”

Neil shrugged as he leaned against Jean. “The two of you need to work together, basically.” When Jean and Minyard exchanged blank looks with each other, he sighed. “Or not. So, how do we go about finding this person, eh? The fact that Jean and I aren’t familiar with the name isn’t a good sign and we don’t have much time.” He paused to chew on his bottom lip for a moment, which made Jean brace himself for something unpleasant. “Best we split up.”

“I’m with Josten,” Minyard called out before Jean could say anything, and he found himself grinding his teeth together when Neil nodded, an unspoken apology in his pale eyes.

“ _You know it’s for the best_ ,” his lover explained in a soft voice. “ _He doesn’t know the city or language and the two of you would be at each other’s throats within ten minutes_.”

It was the truth, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear, to know that Neil would be out there in potential danger without Jean by his side. Judging from the unhappy smile on his lover’s face and the way that Neil’s hands pressed against the gun holstered beneath Jean’s jacket and the knife in his belt, the unspoken words of ‘be careful’, that concern was shared.

“ _Don’t get into trouble_ ,” Neil told him as he rocked upward the same time he tugged Jean down into a quick kiss.

“ _I should be telling you that, you dreadful imp_ ,” Jean chided before he looked over at Minyard. “You _will_ watch over him, yes?” He ignored Neil’s muttered ‘I can watch myself, dammit’.

Minyard’s bored gaze met his own, and for once there was a _bit_ of something in those almost golden eyes of his, a bit of emotion to give them some depth. It wasn’t insult or anger, but something akin to conviction, something more than just a challenge flared in them.

Something that made Jean believe that the American wouldn’t allow anything to harm Neil, especially when the man glanced at Neil and those eyes warmed a little, as they grew more human and the slightest bit more open.

A part of him didn’t like that rare glimpse of openness, of interest, but if it meant that Neil was safe then he’d let it slide for the moment.

Neil lingered at his side for a second or two before he stepped away. “We’ll go talk to Claudia and Malik,” he told Jean, naming two of their contacts tied to the Hatfords.

Jean nodded in approval. “I’ll check with Enes, Zahra and Giovanni.” Enes and Zahra were close together, so it wouldn’t take him too long to make the rounds. “We check in after each contact.”

“Agreed.” Neil gave a slight wave ‘goodbye’ before he motioned for Andrew to follow him out the door, probably so they could catch a cab since Claudia and Malik were halfway across the city and Andrew had an expense account. Jean finished his coffee before he bundled up his coat so he could head toward the nearest station to catch a train over to the one bar where Enes hung out.

It would be a busy night, which was a good thing when he didn’t want to think about Neil spending time with another man.

*******

Neil paid the taxi driver and stepped out onto the street where Andrew was waiting for him, a lit cigarette dangling from his full lips and an intent look in his hazel eyes even though his expression remained its usual bland mask.

Part of Neil wondered how he could interpret the American’s ‘tells’ so easily after roughly a week together, why he wasn’t put off by Andrew’s brusque manner when Jean and almost everyone else was, but his survival had always relied on figuring people out. Sometimes he’d charm them as well, sometimes not, all depending on just what he needed from them and if he thought it was worth the effort (if he thought they were the type it would work on in the end).

And if he wasn’t being a stubborn fool, as Jean would say.

He took it from Andrew’s expression that the other young man wanted to talk before they went up to Claudia’s apartment, so he shoved his hands into the pockets of the bomber jacket and arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Andrew glanced around the narrow street as if to make sure that they were alone as he flicked ash off the tip of the cigarette. “Who is this person?”

That was a question which Neil had been expecting since they’d left the café and he’d more or less settled on an answer. “A while ago you asked about me and the Hatfords,” he said as he fought not to fidget or give away any tells of his own. “I’ve some contact with my mother’s family in that Jean and I do some work for them in return for help in keeping the Moriyamas at bay. Claudia and Malik are… not Hatfords but middlemen, if you will.” He chewed on his bottom lip as he struggled to find a better word in English. “Ah, outsourced employees? Contractors?” He was running out of ideas so he hoped one of them made sense.

Fortunately, Andrew nodded at last. “So what, they’re tied in to the network and pass on information to you?”

It… was more complicated than that, like most things in Neil’s life. “They’ll have some information we don’t since they work certain jobs we don’t,” he tried to explain. “We’re… less obvious in what we do.” He and Jean did the work that people didn’t want any attention drawn to and to be able to deny, after all.

Andrew gave him an assessing look as he blew out a thin plume of smoke. “Why didn’t the Hatfords take you in?”

“Why should I tell you that?” Neil countered with a slight smile.

It was quiet while Andrew smoked for about a minute and they continued to gaze at each other despite standing out on the street in the cold. “I’ll tell you a truth for each one you give me,” the American offered at last.

Hmm, that… that could prove valuable, all things considered. Neil was certain that Jean wouldn’t approve of him giving up anything about their pasts or in regards to himself, but it wasn’t often they had a chance to find out what had happened back in the States after they’d left, among other things. Or to ensure that Andrew (or the US government) wasn’t going to stab them in the back when all was said and done – for some reason Neil felt he could trust _Andrew_ to at least honor this agreement between them. “All right.” He nodded once then glanced up at one of the windows of Claudia’s apartment to catch a movement behind the drapes which were lit from behind; she knew they were out there and probably curious as to why they weren’t coming upstairs yet. “We didn’t go to London and my family because it most likely would have started a war between the Hatfords and the Moriyamas; it’s the same reason why my mother never ran to them with me when I was younger. They helped to get us out of the States and I didn’t want to cause any more trouble for them, so Jean and I set up our new lives here.”

Andrew continued to regard him for a couple of seconds before he gave a soft scoff. “Is that all?”

Neil sighed as he tugged on the rim of his wool hat. “That and if we’d gone to them, we’d be part of the Hatfords for the rest of our lives. After breaking free of the Nest, of the Moriyamas… we’ve a modicum of freedom here,” he tried to explain to someone who’d never been _owned_ , been considered _property_. “We’re working toward being completely free one day.” Hurting the Moriyamas by turning in Cardin would speed up the arrival of that ‘one day’.

Andrew considered that as he had another long drag on his cigarette then nodded as he flicked it aside and exhaled another plume of smoke. “These contacts are trust-worthy?”

“We may not be formally part of the organization, but I’m still blood and we’re very useful,” Neil answered as he motioned for them to go inside the one apartment building before Claudia’s curiosity turned into dangerous paranoia. “In a way, Jean and I being ‘freelance’ works to all of our benefits.” It gave him and Jean the freedom they needed after _everything_ as well as ensured that the Hatfords had people they trusted to do certain things they could never outright acknowledge.

Nothing else was said until they were on the second flight of steps. “What about your question?”

“Hmm?” Neil blinked as he tugged free the cap from his head. “Oh, what I can ask you? I’ll think of something later.” He didn’t want to be rushed, especially when they were about to follow up on a lead. Andrew gave him another intent look for that answer but didn’t argue.

Claudia was in her late fifties and, other than dyeing her greying hair in an assortment of different pastel colors each time Neil (and Jean) saw her, aged gracefully with few wrinkles in her dark skin. She offered them coffee, the scent strong in the air of her small apartment, and some sort of cinnamon cookies which Andrew accepted after Neil nodded that they could be trusted.

All she knew about Savary was that he’d apparently taken over Hugues’ gang in the past few weeks, which surprised Neil. He usually heard about important things like that, which meant that Savary must have put some effort in his takeover and had help from inside the gang. He thanked Claudia while Andrew left a stack of bills on her table by the empty plate which had held a pile of cookies.

They sat in comfortable silence in the next cab to the club where Malik worked; the bouncers gave Neil an odd look to see someone other than Jean at his side but let them both in ahead of the long line of people waiting to enter the popular establishment. Once inside, Andrew pressed as close as possible without touching him due to the crowd while Neil led him back to the private office where Malik watched over the various bars and dance floors.

“ _Ah, Neil! Good to see you_!” Malik paused upon noticing Andrew and laughed. “ _Did you trade in Jean-Baptiste at last? Should I call Margaux and tell her the good news_?”

“ _Very funny_ ,” Neil said with a grimace upon the mention of their one friend, who had a long-standing crush on his lover. “ _No, we’re still together so he’s not available yet_.” He switched to English so Andrew could understand the conversation. “This is a friend of mine, Andrew Minyard. He has some questions for you.” He nodded to Andrew so the American could ask about Savary.

Malik gave Neil a questioning look to ensure that it was all right to talk freely to an ‘outsider’ and only answered when Neil nodded again. Andrew didn’t show any annoyance over that fact, but it might have helped that Malik had more information.

Savary had indeed taken over Hugues’ gang (more a criminal organization than a gang) because he’d been aided by Hugues’ second in command as well as no one else in the organization seemed to protest the change in leadership. Neil thanked the man for the information and promised that he and Jean would return at a later date.

He checked his phone to see that Jean was on his way to Giovanni’s and arranged to meet up with his lover at Manel’s bar. While in the cab, Andrew gazed at the driver for several seconds before speaking. “What do you think is behind the sudden… change of management?”

“It is rather suspicious, isn’t it?” Neil agreed. “Makes one wonder how long your little friend that you’re trying to catch up with had been planning his trip back home, no?”

“Yes. As well as what was going on at his previous home and why he needed to put so much effort into his travel plans.” Andrew rested his head back against the seat and seemed to think about everything. “Now to see what Grumpy found out.”

“It’s so evident that you play well with others,” Neil said with heavy sarcasm, and smiled when Andrew held up his left hand with the middle finger extended. “If you would, try to get along a little? It makes this whole arrangement that much easier for us all.”

Andrew turned to look at him for a couple of seconds before he resumed gazing forward and clicked his tongue. “Tell Grumpy the same thing.”

“I have.” Neil tapped his phone against his chin. “I don’t understand why the two of you can’t get along, now that he apologized for the whole water thing.”

It was quiet for several seconds before Andrew once more turned to look at him, his expression inscrutable that time before he clicked his tongue and closed his eyes. When he didn’t say anything, Neil sighed and shook his head. “Great, another stubborn putain in my life, just what I need,” Neil muttered.

“And an oblivious idiot in mine,” Andrew countered without more of an explanation than that.

Neil held up two fingers to the bastard and began to text Jean to complain about how he had to put up with the rude American. Yet for all of Andrew’s ill manners… he didn’t mind the situation, not really. For some reason he felt at ease with the young man, felt able to trust him with his back. That was something which didn’t usually happen unless he was with Jean or someone associated with the Hatfords.

Hopefully Jean would overcome his issues with Andrew (and vice versa) because for an odd reason, Neil wanted the two men to get along. It wasn’t often that he felt some sort of connection with another person, but Andrew… Andrew was _different_. He didn’t think it was just because of the whole Exy thing, because Andrew had managed to tear apart the Wesninski organization or was determined to break the Moriyamas once and for all.

It was more than that, even if Neil couldn’t grasp _why_.

So for the little time while the American was in Marseille, Neil wanted to get to know him better and work together and….

It was confusing.

But he didn’t see what it would hurt for the three of them to get along and cooperate to bring down the Moriyamas, the strongest thing to unite them together.

*******

Andrew nursed the bottle of beer in his right hand as he watched Neil dance with two tourists, young women who were taking a ‘gap’ year and enjoying the lower drinking age in Europe (along with the usual shit about culture and ‘finding themselves’) from the bit they’d said earlier. They appeared enamored with his good looks and slender build, probably thought he was a ‘safe’ choice because he wasn’t tall and muscular and kept his hands to himself.

There was safe and there was _safe_ – yes, they had nothing to fear from Neil being a too-ardent suitor that night, but he could end their lives with ridiculous ease or leave them stranded without money and passports.

(Had probably done both in the past, from the little Andrew had learned while hanging out with him and listening to others talk.)

They’d best learn to pick their dance partners better, but Neil was so very good at hiding that dark side, wasn’t he?

Moreau… Jean wasn’t too bad, either, if one was to judge from the offers for drinks (and more) he turned down from where he was stationed at the one bar, a glowering presence who seemed to be keeping a grinning bartender company (who was only too happy to assist in the shooing away of potential suitors). The woman – Margaux - would drape her left arm over Jean's broad shoulders after making a new round of drinks and give his admirers a too-sharp grin until they got the hint, which only made the Frenchman's scowl deepen and body twitch.

Andrew surmised that Jean wasn't attracted to women (judging from the way he failed to react positively to the displays of flesh presented to him and pressed against his back) and didn't care for people touching him (his reactions to Margaux and anyone else who came too close). Those things made Andrew wonder about what Neil had said in regards to Riko trying to break the two ex-Ravens, about the night which had led to them leaving the Nest and the States for good - about Riko and four older Ravens showing up in their room, to a young Neil (Nathaniel Wesninski) finally reaching the breaking point (not wanting to see Jean be hurt anymore).

It was a well known fact (at least to certain people) that the games Ravens played were rough ones, especially when Riko was the ringleader. Ravens excelled on court and... well, they excelled on court and that was it, were broken things without a racquet in hand. All the Foxes' horses and all the Foxes' men (Wymack and Abby and Bee and Wilds and the rest of the bleeding hearts, and even Muldani) had done what they could to make Kevin more or less functional, to piece back together Kayleigh Day's shattered mess of a son.

Andrew felt a turgid pulse of bitterness for a moment at the thought that Neil and Jean had survived the Nest and the horrors it had inflicted upon them together, had somehow staunched the bleeding from such deep fractures and fitted the pieces together as best they could, had pasted and taped them into place with their own hands while fighting to survive with only the other to watch their backs. Somehow they'd managed all of it.

 _Together_.

Bitterness... and jealousy, because Jean gazed out on the dance floor to make sure that Neil was all right and didn't go charging into the throng of bodies as his partner (lover) twirled one of the teenaged girls around to separate the two. Instead he shook his head as if amused by Neil's antics, especially when the other girl insisted that she be twirled around as well. When Neil caught sight of Margaux leaning on Jean and pressing a drink into his hand, there was a flash of a smile before he resumed dancing with the girls.

It was clear that neither of the two were concerned about the other cheating on them, were secure enough in their relationship that Jean could allow his partner to flirt (and more) with others right in front of him. That spoke of a level of trust that Andrew found almost inconceivable and unattainable and... and so damn appealing.

What would it be like to trust someone that much? To know they had Andrew’s back to such an extent yet could still give him space, could accept his flaws and all the darkness of his past?

He drained the bottle of lukewarm beer without dwelling on that thought and forced himself to resume scanning the club for Savary or one of his people. It was while he glanced out over the dance floor that he noticed someone matching the description of Karl Raoul, Savary’s second in command, a tall man with dark hair and a close-shaved beard, staring at Neil and the girls.

More at the girls than Neil.

Taking a chance, Andrew waved over one of the servers walking around with a tray of shots and bought four from her (Jean had assured him that Malik didn’t allow any tampering of the wares he sold be it drinks or drugs, but anything sold by ‘independents’ were taken at one’s own risk) before he braved the dance floor. “Hey, half-pint, want a drink?” he called out as a warning as he sidled behind Neil, voice pitched to be heard over the loud music.

Neil stiffened a little but flashed him a dazzling smile over his left shoulder while the girls turned around and clapped their hands at the drinks. “Look who’s talking,” he answered in English.

Andrew gave him a blank look as he held up his hands and just avoided being jostled by another patron (he _hated_ dance floors). “I can call you whatever I want when I’m buying the drinks.”

“Oh, yeah! Do you know him, Stephan?” the blonde asked as she grabbed two of the drinks and handed one to her friend, who was waiting for ‘Stephan’ to answer.

“We’ve crossed paths a time or two,” Neil said with a smirk as he accepted a drink and surprised Andrew by leaning back against him. “He’s not as fun as you, though, not into crowds. But elsewhere? That’s a different story,” he said with a leer.

The girls laughed at that and tossed back their drinks, while Neil sipped his and continued to settle against Andrew, which was only allowed because it put them in close enough contact to talk without him having to yell. “ _It looks like Raoul is here_ ,” he said in German.

“Ah.” Neil finished the drink then dropped the small plastic cup to the floor without concern for the mess. Andrew echoed his movements after a moment and slid his left arm around the younger man’s waist as they swayed back and forth (the closest he’d come to dancing), mindful of putting on a good ‘show’ for Raoul while the girls pouted a little and Neil shifted them about so Andrew’s back was against the wall.

He should mind being so close to someone, to touching someone (even if it was to help move things along for a case), but Neil kept most of his weight off of Andrew and his hand light on Andrew’s wrist, and he was so damn attractive. Part of Andrew wondered how good Neil would be at following directions, at keeping his hands to himself while Andrew went down on his knees… but there was _Jean_.

“More drinks,” he forced himself to shout as the bottle redhead spun around in a circle and blonde did some half-twerk thing, and all the while Raoul came closer and closer. “My treat.”

“Uhm, okay!” Redhead agreed that time while blonde grabbed her hand, then Neil led the way to small table in Jean’s line of sight that just so happened to be available. They’d only been there a few seconds before a server came over for their order, and soon after the young man left, Raoul sauntered over all smiles and tight black clothes (Andrew felt that he had every right to internally sneer since he wasn’t trying _that_ _hard_ ).

“Bonne nuit.” He gave a slight nod to the four of them. “You seem to be having a good night out,” he said in accented English. “Are you tourists?”

“We are,” blonde said as she motioned between herself and her friend. “We’re visiting for the week, but Stephan’s a local.” She gave Andrew a confused look to which he merely shrugged. “Uhm, I’m Joanna and this is Tami.”

“A pleasure.” He didn’t bother to find out Andrew’s name, which proved Andrew’s suspicion that he was only interested in the young women and was more than happy that Neil/Stephan now seemed ‘occupied’. He went on to ask them how long they'd been in France (about a month, all part of that gap year thing), and when the server returned with their drinks he paid for them before Andrew could (which wasn't a problem at all, one less thing to expense). While Raoul did his best to charm the young women, Neil pretended to lean against Andrew (once again barely touching) as they faked having some sort of relationship with each other. For his part, Andrew would occasionally drape his arm around Neil's waist or slide his hand along the other man's arm.

He told himself it was an act, was something he forced himself to do, and part of that was true in that he had to tamp down on long-established fears and doubts in allowing someone so close, in not constantly checking where their hands were or what they were doing. Yet it was Neil, was someone who had always minded his boundaries in the almost two weeks they'd spent together searching for Savary and his people, who was careful with his questions when it came to Andrew's past after learning about him being in foster care.

Neil Josten was someone too good to be true (ha), was a liar and a thief and gorgeous, was damaged yet stubborn and clever and clearly in love with another man.

In other words, he'd never be Andrew's.

Andrew stood there and sipped his double shot of whiskey while Raoul steered the conversation toward the fact that he owned a loft in the Las Camas district which was well-stocked in alcohol and much nicer than the club, during which Neil smiled and nodded while tapping away on his phone (keeping Jean up to date on everything). It was clear that the girls were smart enough to not want to go off alone with some strange guy and kept glancing at 'Stephan', to which Neil turned and, after a slight bump to Andrew's left hip in warning, gave him a quick nuzzle to his jaw. "What about it, pumpkin?" he asked in a slightly slurred voice as if the drinks had caught up to him. "Wanna go?"

'Pumpkin'. Andrew was drowning the bastard in the nearest body of water as soon as possible. "Sure, why not?" he said with a hint of a German accent modeled on Erik's as he gave Raoul an even look. The man frowned for a moment, but when the girls grew excited, he shrugged and motioned to the four of them to follow.

Despite his dislike of having strangers in his car, Andrew allowed the girls to ride with him and Neil (that and it assured that Raoul didn't try to lose him and Neil on the way to the loft), with them babbling along to each other and Neil the entire drive. The redhead smiled at them and continued to act inebriated while he played with his phone, the tracking device enabled which allowed all three of them to keep track of each other (when turned on).

Raoul’s loft was in the Le Camas section of the city, surrounded by bars (which would make selling drugs easy, Andrew suspected). He shared a look with Neil as they got out of the car, and as they made their way up the stairs leading to the third floor, Neil stumbled as if drunk into the other redhead in their small group (Tami) and mumbled what sounded to be an apology to her as they ended up tangled together.

An apology and a couple of other things; to give the young woman credit, her smile barely slipped as Neil held on to her as if for support, his face half-buried in her dyed and tousled hair. She giggled as she half-carried him over to Andrew while her friend cooed and took pictures.

“Watch ‘im, yeah?” There was a bit of a slur in her voice then, too, and Andrew noticed her pat the pocket into which Neil had slipped some money and a number for a ride back to her hotel.

He might be a thief and a liar and worse, but it was clear that Neil did his best to keep innocents out of the line of fire if possible.

The loft was an open floor plan with new furniture and shiny metal appliances and a view of the brick buildings across the street. Raoul wasted no time in offering to mix up some drinks for the four of them, which set off warning bells in Andrew's head, and apparently Neil's and Tami's as well. Tami made an excuse about having to use the bathroom and tried to get Joanna to tag along, but her friend was busy talking to Raoul and didn't pick up on the hint. Nor did she pay attention to her phone a minute or two later since the dealer kept her occupied by letting her play with the entertainment system.

" _Spiked drinks_ ," Neil murmured in German, to which Andrew clicked his tongue in agreement. " _Question is, with what_?"

Yes, especially since he and Neil weren't supposed to be there; he watched as Raoul made some sort vodka spritzer for the four of them but claimed to prefer his straight (said with an accompanying smirk directed Andrew's and Neil's way, the prick) as he handed over the drinks. Clever to hide it in the seltzer, which normally seemed innocuous, except that he'd used a strongly flavored vodka.

Joanna didn't hesitate to knock back the drink, while Neil pretended to take a sip and Tami started to before lowering it to check her phone. Andrew debated what to do with his when Neil, a wide grin on his face, grabbed the glass and set it aside with his own (spilling a good bit of both glasses' contents) and grasped the front of his black t-shirt. " _Yes_?" he asked in German, eyes solemn despite the otherwise drunken air.

Andrew only hesitated for a moment before answering with a murmured ‘ _yes_ ’ then reached up to cup his right hand around the nape of Neil’s neck while pulling him in for a kiss. A kiss which he told himself didn’t mean anything, a kiss which was just a distraction, was for show, yet Neil made a breathy little moan as he parted his lips and his fingers twisted in the fabric of Andrew’s shirt.

He knew he shouldn’t, but Andrew allowed the kiss to deepen, for his fingers to slide into Neil’s hair as his eyes almost ( _almost_ ) fluttered shut, as he imagined pushing the young man against the wall and stroking his hands along the lean body pressed against him. Joanna slurred something about her phone while Tami gasped and Raoul muttered.

Then Joanna groaned, the sound almost pained, and Raoul said something to Tami about helping the young woman to the bathroom. Andrew and Neil broke off the kiss while Tami objected to being separated from her dazed (drugged) friend. “No, let me help,” Neil insisted.

“You couldn’t carry her,” Raoul said with a sneer. “Just stay here and enjoy your drinks, I’ll handle this.”

Right, just like he’d ‘handled’ getting the American into her current state.

Andrew shared another look with Neil before he shoved his way between Raoul and a barely conscious Joanna (whatever had been put in their drinks, it was potent as hell); when the drug dealer glanced at his way, Andrew threw a right hook with all of his might at the prick’s jaw. It wasn’t enough to knock him out but it _did_ knock him down.

While he handled Raoul, Neil grabbed Joanna (he might be on the small side, but he was stronger than he appeared) and ordered Tami to call the number as he hauled her friend out of the loft; with the two young women taken care of (and hopefully a lot wiser about things from then on out), Andrew continued to punch and kick Raoul until the fight left the other man.

He might have enjoyed it a little, too.

There was the sound of someone entering the loft a minute later, which turned out to be Jean. “Neil’s making sure that the girls get home safe,” the tall Frenchman explained as he took in the groaning prick at Andrew’s feet. “Will he be able to talk?”

“Jaw’s not broken so yes. I need something to tie him up.” Andrew wasn’t moving away from the barely conscious prick until he was restrained.

Jean muttered something beneath his breath while he searched about for restraints, and returned shortly with a couple of shirts that he began to rip into strips while Andrew manhandled Raoul onto a chair.

Neil came back once the drug dealer was all tied up, his weary expression falling away when Jean tugged him close and pressed a kiss to his forehead. The two murmured in French for a few seconds and then Neil nodded to Andrew. “The girls are on the way back to their hotel. Are you ready for this?”

“This apartment is pretentious as hell and I need a shower. The sooner this is finished, the better,” Andrew answered while lighting up a cigarette; he refused to acknowledge the ache in his chest at the sight of Neil tucked against Jean’s side like that, at the way they fit together so easily. Just an act, he reminded himself – Neil did whatever he needed to get a job done, something that had become clear in the past couple of weeks, became clear in the way that the redhead slipped free a long, slim knife and approached Raoul with a clear intent to torture the groggy man for information on Savary and Cardin.

Still, such a gorgeous pipe dream.

Andrew went to pour himself some whiskey to help get through the next hour or so.

*******

" _Thanks for looking into that_ ," Neil told his cousin in English. _"It'll be good to check where they're getting some of their supply_."

" _Sure thing, little cousin_ ," Jamie replied. " _Anything to help knock those bastards down_."

They wished each other a good night (nearly morning at that point) then Neil hung up the phone and threw it aside, done with the calls for the time being; he'd reached out to numerous contacts with the information they'd gotten out of Savary's man and should hopefully have several new leads by the next evening.

"With luck we'll close in on Cardin in another couple of days."

"With luck," Jean agreed. "Then he and the American can go away."

Neil paused at the thought of Andrew leaving Marseille, was stunned at how important the other man had become to him in such a short time; he wasn't used to... to growing 'attached' to people like that, to thinking of them as something more than useful assets. In his world there was Jean and the Hatfords and no one else, just interchangeable beings who used him as he used them.

That was somewhat true about Andrew, the ‘use’ part, but… but there was something else there, too.

“Neil? Is everything all right?” Jean asked, as always able to pick up right away when something was wrong. “Did something happen tonight?”

He probably meant at the club or with Raoul, something along the lines of a fight or trouble, but for all the secrets Neil kept and the lies he told, it had always been the truth between the two of them. Unable to hold anything back from his partner and lover, from the person who watched his back and gave him a home, Neil went over to where Jean sat on the couch and straddled his lover’s lap. “Yes and no.” When Jean tensed beneath him, a worried expression on his handsome face as he wrapped his arms around Neil’s waist, he sighed. “Not quite what you’re thinking, I’m willing to bet. It has to do with Andrew.” When Jean’s thick dark brows grew furrowed, Neil shook his head. “And no again, he wasn’t an asshole or anything like that. We kissed tonight,” he confessed.

Jean was quiet as he thought about that. “Oh. It was part of your cover, yes? To get to Raoul?” He was used to Neil flirting and making out with targets or the people around them and knew that Neil didn’t feel anything for them, didn’t think anything of it since it was meaningless – _Jean_ was the only person who mattered to him _that_ way, who made him feel anything. Jean hated that he had to do it for some of their assignments (it was a little too close to what had happened in the Nest, in his opinion), but he knew that it didn’t affect anything between them.

That… wasn’t the case with Andrew.

“It was, but I enjoyed it,” Neil explained while he toyed with the hair which fell onto the nape of Jean’s neck and sighed when he felt his lover tense again. “I don’t… it’s confusing with Andrew because yes, he is an asshole and I think he barely tolerates me, but it was still nice.” He chewed on his bottom lip as he struggled to put what he felt into words. “I wouldn’t mind kissing him again, if he’d let me.” It was so _rare_ , to feel that way for someone.

Jean’s arms tightened around Neil then loosened. “So, you want to be with Andrew instead?” he asked, his deep voice rough and pain in his beautiful grey eyes. “Is that what you mean?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Neil yanked his fool of a lover into a passionate kiss, one where he hoped to prove just how much he still wanted and needed Jean, a kiss that was quickly returned as those arms constricted around his hips almost tight enough to hurt. “Nothing’s changed between us,” Neil said when they broke apart a minute or two later. “ _Nothing_. The only way _this_ ends is when your stupidity gets you killed one night and I’m not there to keep you alive.”

A slight sneer came over Jean’s face as his right hand stroked up and down Neil’s back. “It’s going to be _your_ foolishness and rash nature that gets me killed, you terrible imp, and I almost long for the peace it’ll bring.”

“You wouldn’t be so lucky, my star.”

“It seems not.” Jean gave him a quick kiss on the lips then sighed, the sound long and exhausted. “Minyard? Really? You’re drawn to him?”

Neil gave a slight shrug as he combed his fingers through Jean’s thick hair. “I don’t understand it, but I’ve never understood why I’ve never really been attracted to anyone.” There had been a few men who’d caught Jean’s eye over the years and Neil was fine with that because nothing would come between the two of them, there wasn’t anyone else who could understand what they’d been through or and the life they led.

Though he suspected Andrew might, just a little.

“True, but _Minyard_?”

He gave a slight tug to Jean’s hair for that disdainful reply. “Come now, I’ve seen you check him out a time or two. His lousy attitude aside, try to tell me that you don’t find him attractive.” He stared Jean down until his lover huffed and gave a slight nod. “You’re just still upset over the whole ‘chocolatine’ thing and him being American.”

“Those are both terrible tragedies,” Jean intoned in a solemn voice.

“Hmm, true, but you suffer me.” Neil smiled when Jean shuddered as if in horror. “Bastard.”

“Likely, and a tired one at that.” Jean gave Neil one more quick kiss then gently pushed him onto his feet. “Shower, then bed, it’s been a long night and I suspect we’ll be busy again later.”

“Yes.” Neil threaded their fingers together as he led Jean to the bathroom, determine to prove that nothing had changed between them despite the kiss with Andrew, and was content to nestle next to Jean once they were clean and tucked into their bed to sleep. Jean’s arms were wrapped all around him as if to keep him from disappearing, something which was more a comfort than anything – it proved how much Jean wanted him to stay.

It took over a day for their contacts to get back to them with some helpful information, so the two of them stayed in the apartment the next day, spent most of the time in their bed, resting and making love. Part of it was Jean assuring himself that nothing had changed between them (nothing had), and part of it was that they’d spent the past couple of weeks running all over Marseille with barely any time to themselves; Neil didn’t complain about a day alone with his lover, in Jean’s strong arms wrapped around him as he sipped coffee or large, gentle hands stroking along his body or deep voice murmuring endearments in his ear.

When Jamie came through with the location of the business deal Raoul had tipped them off about where Savary had hopes of using some of the knowledge Cardin had given him to ‘flip’ a couple of Moriyama allies to his side, Neil felt oddly disappointed. He wanted the Cardin thing wrapped up soon – a potential danger to him and Jean eliminated, a powerful blow dealt to Moriyamas and that much closer to freedom – yet their ‘holiday’ had been so nice.

That and he had to deal with Andrew.

Jean wasn’t pleased when Neil suggested that he and Andrew go to check out the location while Jean ‘rallied’ the local troops – yet it made sense to split up the workload, and Neil got along better with Andrew. “Is this so you can kiss him again?”

Neil’s eyes narrowed as he stole Jean’s coffee for himself. “You’re cooking for the next month,” he told his lover – Jean had the grace to look a little ashamed. “No, it’s so that none of us get killed, and maybe I want to _talk_ to him about the kiss, make sure that it’s not going to affect things moving forward.”

Jean’s expression softened as he reached out to cup Neil’s left cheek. “I’m sorry, but the thought of losing you makes me-“ He shook his head as if at a loss for words.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Neil assured him after taking a big swallow of the coffee then handing it back. “You’re not that lucky, remember?”

That provoked a slight smile from his lover. “Very true.” Jean pressed a kiss to Neil’s forehead then stepped safely out of reach with the rest of his coffee, the bastard.

The ‘bastard’ theme seemed to carry on when he met up with Andrew a couple of blocks from the seemingly abandoned theater which Savary was using for the meet-up. Neil had warned Andrew to be careful when in the northern districts due to their high crime rate; it wasn’t an area favored by ‘tourists’ with all of the low-income estates and gangs concentrated in the area, and the American could easily stand out.

If any of the gangs found out he was a ‘cop’, then it wouldn’t be good.

Andrew had dressed in a casual outfit (jeans, worn sneakers, and old but still good leather coat) and was quiet while Neil took him into one of the fast food restaurants to get something warm to eat and drink before they staked out a spot up on fire escape across the street from the theater, intent on checking out the place so they didn’t go in blind the next night.

It took almost an hour (and about half a pack of cigarettes) before Andrew spoke in English. “How certain are you that this is the place?”

“Very.” Neil shifted about to better face the American, having given up on being comfortable a long time ago since he was sitting on metal bars for most of the night. “I don’t trust many people, but my cousin is one of them. They want to see the Moriyamas hurt just as much as we do.” He figured that last part would matter the most to Andrew.

Andrew was quiet again as if considering that. “The Hatfords are involved now?”

“They’re supplying information but not too much else considering your government is involved. Don’t want to unduly complicate things, no?” Neil gave his… oh, he supposed that Andrew should be considered a ‘friend’ at least, a sharp grin.

He thought he heard ‘too late’, but Andrew seemed to focus on working through another cigarette for a few minutes. While he did that, Neil texted Jean to let him know that everything was quiet and no kissing had taken place _yet_.

He received a rude emoji in return.

“Are you going to basically ignore me for the next few hours?” Neil asked when Andrew gazed at the dark theater as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world. “Usually you’re complaining about Jean or something French by now.”

It was quiet for a minute while some teenagers ran yelling down the street, then Andrew clicked his tongue. “Nothing to talk about.”

“I disagree.” Neil winced as he shifted forward to lean his shoulder against one of the front rails. “I told Jean about our kiss.”

 _That_ got a reaction; Andrew nearly dropped the lighter he was holding in his left hand as if debating to have another cigarette. “ _What_? About – you told him about our kiss?” There was a rare show of emotion, of surprise followed by suspicion, on the young man’s face.

“Hmm.” Neil tugged the cuffs of his coat over his hands for warmth; stake-outs were a bitch in winter. “We don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“So you tell him you kissed another man.” Andrew’s deep voice (oh, was that a thing in common? Did Neil like deep voices?) became even flatter as he gazed at Neil as if trying to figure him out. “Did he laugh? Did you? I mean, it was nothing, right? I’ve seen you kiss a few guys and he doesn’t care.”

“You really are an asshole,” Neil told him in a cheerful manner, mindful to keep his voice pitched low. “And no, no laughing, because Jean knows that I don’t care about kissing people for work stuff.” He wrapped his arms around his chest and hoped that Jean at least was somewhere warm. “That for me to talk to him about it meant that it _was_ important to me.”

That seemed to render Andrew quiet again as he attempted to figure out the importance of those words. “I… that doesn’t make sense, you’re with Moreau. The kiss didn’t mean anything.”

Neil swore in a couple of different languages about thick-headed Americans before he tried again. “Look, we don’t know each other very well, but I’ve only liked one person my entire life and that’s Jean. He’s the only one I’ve been attracted to, the only one I’ve wanted.” He refused to think about the Nest and the Ravens and Riko just then (refused to think about them ever again if he could help it), and noticed how Andrew had gone so still, how his full lips thinned and expression bleak. “It took me by surprise when all of a sudden, I find myself attracted to another person as well.”

“Another-“ Andrew started at that and frowned at Neil. “What, _me_?”

“Okay, so deep voices and stubborn idiots, I’m thinking it’s a thing with me,” Neil said aloud as he leaned back. “A type? That’s what it’s called, right? A type.”

“Why hasn’t Moreau muzzled you yet?” Andrew asked, but the bleakness was gone from his expression and he put the lighter away.

“He likes my mouth as it is,” Neil said with a grin. “You weren’t complaining about it the other night, either.”

Andrew gazed back with a heated look for a couple of seconds before he clicked his tongue and glanced back at the theater. “You’re a liar.”

“Yes, that’s true, but I don’t lie about these things, and I said I wouldn’t lie to you,” Neil reminded him.

“And what if I’m not interested?”

Somehow, Neil doubted that, not with the way Andrew had kissed him back, had kissed him in the first place when he obviously didn’t like people being close to him any other time. When he’d thought that Neil had only kissed him because of Raoul. “You know how I feel,” was what he settled on, unwilling to push Andrew on the topic or make him uncomfortable.

It was quiet again as a car drove past the theater – a car Neil swore he’d seen drive past it already. “I’ll be heading back to Baltimore soon,” Andrew reminded as he watched the car, too. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I know, but I thought you deserved the truth.” Neil didn’t want it to sour things between them, not when they still had to work together a little longer.

Andrew grunted at that so Neil took that to mean the topic was done for the time being; as Andrew had said, nothing could happen between them, not with Andrew leaving soon, but Neil thought the rare sense of attraction he felt should be acknowledged. He could recognize another broken person and at the least, Andrew deserved to know that whatever it had been, that kiss, it wasn’t someone using him for a job.

Neil didn’t like that thought, someone using Andrew.

People began to approach the theater so Neil pushed all thoughts of the other night aside as he and Andrew hunched down on the fire escape to watch over what happened across the street. If they leaned against each other for warmth and comfort, nothing was said.

*******

Andrew forced himself not to fidget as Jean spoke in French to someone on the phone and Neil talked to the one Hatford ‘associate’, Malik, who Andrew had met a few days ago; everything was being set up so they could take out Savary that night and Cardin into custody… and oh, how nice that the Hatfords would have a gang loyal to them step into the vacuum left by Savary’s demise.

Andrew didn’t really give a damn since it wasn’t his mess to clean up, he just wanted to get one Moriyama lackey back on a plane to the US as soon as possible and away from two very confusing criminals.

He found himself staring after Neil and had to make himself look aside, disgusted with himself over that lack of control. Ever since the kiss in the club – no, even more-so since the kiss in the club, he’d been fixated on the younger man, had been plagued by an unwelcome and unusual sense of _want_.

He’d felt lust for people before – Roland, some of his teammates back at PSU, a few agents at work – but it was something he rarely acted upon unless certain criteria were met (no strings, no interference with work, strict rules followed). None of those relationships had been important enough to bother him when they ended, if they lasted long enough to be considered anything remotely like a ‘relationship’.

(Bee certainly had her own opinion on the matter and probably would break out the fancy chocolates once Andrew told her about Neil.)

Of course when there was… _something_ drawing him to another person, something more complex than lust, an itch to be scratched then forgotten, that person was in another country and a criminal and in a stable relationship with an equally attractive (and criminal) man.

Neil Josten was one hell of a pipe dream, an illusion sent to torment Andrew and prove once again how much life hated him.

The fantasy in question finished talking to Malik, who gave Andrew a polite nod as he walked past on his way out of the small flower shop they were using as a temporary ‘base’ since it was located a couple of doors down from the theater. Neil came over to stand by Andrew. “That’s all set now, Savary’s people will be too busy to lend him a hand once we make our move.”

In other words, a small gang war was about to happen, and by all rights Andrew should notify the police. However, there was no guarantee that Savary didn’t have a contact in the police department, him or the Moriyamas, so he couldn’t risk it.

“And Jean?”

Neil gazed at his partner, who continued to speak on the phone for several seconds, then nodded. “Yes, we’ll have our distraction.”

Andrew grunted once in approval and refused to think of how Neil stood right next to him, how he could breathe in the woodsy scent of the shampoo that Neil (and Jean) used, could easily reach out to grab hold of a sleeve of that ridiculously big suede bomber jacket and pull him in for another kiss.

He hated Neil.

Jean came over once the call was finished, his expression on the cool side for Andrew but warmer when he focused on Neil. “The boys will be here in a few minutes so shall we go?”

“Ah, some fun at last!” Neil bounced on the tips of his toes a couple of times before he stepped toward the back of the closed flower shop, intent on reaching the theater. Jean motioned for Andrew to precede him, and despite having the man at his back, Andrew followed Neil before the idiot got into trouble.

Between what the Hatfords had sent Neil and their surveillance the night before, they’d figured out that there weren’t any cameras or video surveillance around the theater, no obvious alarm. That would be too much of a giveaway that something important took place there, that and it wasn’t used often enough to warrant the expense.

No, Savary counted on his people being loyal to him, loyal or too afraid to do anything, and so far didn’t realize that Raoul’s death had been anything but an accident (Andrew had to admire the efficient network which Neil and Jean had built up in the city, even if he shouldn’t since they were _criminals_ ). That would change soon, which was another reason why they had to take advantage of the opportunity presented to them that night, break into the theater and grab Cardin before Savary grew too powerful.

Andrew and Jean provided watch while Neil managed the locks to the theater’s back door, and made sure to reset them so no one would realize that they were inside. There was a guard half asleep toward the front lobby, but Jean handled him quickly, a knife to the right kidney then dragged the body off to a closet. While he did that, Neil did a quick sweep of the rest of the theater to ensure that there weren’t any other guards and reported ‘none’.

The place secured, all they had to do was wait for Savary, Cardin and several guards to arrive (and be dealt with), assured that the local gang would scare off the ‘guests’ who were supposed to show up for the meeting as well as warn them if things were about to get out of hand.

Having been on a few stake-outs before, Andrew knew that it would be a boring job of waiting until Savary arrived at that point, in another hour or so. An hour of standing around in a dimly lit, dusty theater with two men he didn’t really want to talk to, so of course Jean came over while Neil once again did a walk-through of the place.

“What do you think about him?” the moron asked as he motioned to Neil’s vanishing form, his voice pitched low. “Do you like him, too?”

A part of Andrew warmed to hear that ‘too’, while another wanted to shoot Jean for bringing up such a topic right then and there (for bringing it up at all). “Has it escaped your attention what we’re doing here? Not the time.”

Jean scoffed at that as he leaned against the wall just out of Andrew’s reach. “I’m not lucky enough that you’ll get shot tonight, and you’ll be leaving soon. So tell me now while Neil’s away, what do you feel for him?”

“Why does it matter? I am leaving, preferably as soon as Cardin’s in my custody, and somehow I doubt you two will be returning to the US,” Andrew pointed out. No, that wouldn’t be happening until the Moriyamas were well and truly dead and not even after that, not when there was a chance of them answering for whatever had happened back in the Nest as well as the fact that Neil was Nathan Wesninski’s only child.

Jean didn’t speak for about a minute as he gazed in the direction where Neil had left then sighed. “Because he doesn’t normally _like_ people,” he tried to explain. “I don’t want him to be hurt, he’s suffered enough.”

Not that he was worried for himself; Andrew was good at spotting liars after everything he’d been through, and his job as an FBI agent had only honed that ability. He believed that Jean wasn’t very happy about Neil suddenly being interested in someone else and probably was a bit jealous, but his main concern was indeed Neil’s well-being.

What was it like to be in a relationship like that, where you truly cared about your partner first and foremost? Where you were so certain in your feelings for each other that them liking someone else didn’t affect what you already had?

Andrew had told himself that he didn’t _want_ anything, that he was fine alone… but he found himself envious all of a sudden, found that damn _want_ growing stronger. Because Neil and Jean weren’t just anyone, they were two broken individuals who had managed somehow to fit their pieces back together well enough to function somewhat, to fit their pieces together around _each other_.  They didn’t try for a normal life, either, instead they’d cobbled together one which worked best for them.

“I don’t know,” Andrew admitted, “but it wasn’t a lie.” That was all he was willing to say but it seemed to appease Jean enough that he nodded once and fell silent.

Neil came back around twenty minutes later. “Well, I think I’ve disturbed the mice enough,” he told them in a cheerful tone while Andrew clicked his tongue in disgust and Jean reached out to pull him close then check him over. “No hidden stashes from what I can tell, other than some snacks in the one room which I don’t think we want to touch because of said mice. It looks like they’ve just had the guard here for a couple of days and really don’t use this place much.”

That was good to confirm, and better someone else deal with the mice than Andrew. He checked his phone to make sure that Stafford was prepared to extradite Cardin as quickly as possible while Neil and Jean chatted in French (he thought they talked about something to eat, his extremely limited vocabulary only picking up a few words here and there), Neil slumped against Jean’s chest as the larger man held him.

The sight of the casual intimacy made something ache inside of Andrew instead of his skin crawl.

It was quiet as they waited, an oddly companionable silence since none of them felt the need to talk and fill the void; Andrew had been on a couple of stake-outs with people who chatted non-stop out of nervousness or a need to ‘get to know one another’, which hadn’t gone down well. No, there was no need for that with Jean and Neil, and it seemed that had spilled over to him as well – it wasn’t a case of him being shut out as Neil would smile at him and Jean nod and share a glance from time to time, just that words weren’t necessary.

Andrew was back to the whole ‘life hated him’ thing because when he finally found someone he thought maybe, just maybe, things could work out with, it was two someone’s and they were in another damn country across the ocean.

(The whole criminal thing really didn’t bother him.)

Neil had taken to sending Andrew links to pastry shops around Marseille (of course the little shit would do it when he was about to leave) when Jean received the message that Savary was on his way. The three of them tucked away their phones while Andrew put out his cigarette, then moved into place; Jean pulled a knitted cap over his head to obscure his features a little as they went down near the back entrance, Andrew and Neil in the shadows with their guns in hand while Jean opened his coat so it would be easier to reach his weapon.

After a minute he received another text which made him curse beneath his breath. “There’s almost a dozen of them,” he warned, not that it mattered all that much – they were already in place and it was their best chance to grab Cardin.

Neil nodded to show that he’d heard while Andrew reached for his spare pistol and shoved it into back of his jeans for easier reach. It wasn’t long after that when there were sounds of cars out in the alley behind the theater, the rumble of their engines falling silent followed by the slamming of doors and faint voices.

The door opened about a minute later, with someone calling out in French as a couple more dim lights flickered on overheard. Jean stepped forward as he grunted out a mumbled reply, shoulders hunched and head hung low, which was Andrew and Neil’s cue to get ready.

Andrew checked that Cardin was with the gang, a Eurasian man in his late twenties whose face bore lines of stress around his thin-lipped mouth and dark eyes, and inched forward a little more. Savary, dressed casually in peacoat and jeans which were belied by an expensive haircut and huge diamonds in his ears, frowned as he gazed at Jean, the expression intensifying with each breath, so Andrew knew that he was going to signal the nine guards fanning out around him and Cardin at any moment.

So did Neil, which was why he raised his gun and fired at the guard closest to Jean.

“ _Get the target_ ,” Andrew yelled at Jean in German as he started shooting, too, the echo of gunfire quickly filling the theater as everyone but Cardin pulled their weapons. Jean barreled ahead at Cardin and the guard next to him, covered by Neil who darted out of the shadows, a slippery little shit who ducked and spun about as he watched his partner’s back.

Andrew picked off two people then exchanged a few shots with Savary, who hadn’t climbed his way to the top of a gang just by making deals. He slammed into a wall in an effort to avoid getting shot then fell to the ground (dammit, he better not be breathing in mouse shit), rolled over twice then swiped the feet out beneath some huge bastard and shot him first in the stomach then the head. As he jumped back up, coughing a little from the dust he’d inhaled (he told himself it was just dust), he noticed Savary aiming at Neil’s back (distracted by covering Jean) and charged the bastard.

They both went down in a tangle of limbs, and Savary managed to knock Andrew’s gun from his hand as they rolled around. Struggling against the man’s greater weight, Andrew attempted a knee to the groin while he went for a knife but only hit thigh, and Savary landed a hit to his jaw. Seeing stars from the blow but doing his best to roll them over again, to gain the upper hand as Savary braced a forearm against his neck and pressed what felt to be the muzzle of a gun against his chest, Andrew jolted when there was a loud noise from a gun being fired nearby and expected the worst.

Savary slumped against him, eyes wide open but unseeing; Andrew realized that it wasn’t him who’d been shot and pushed the gangster aside to see Jean, with a bruised Cardin gripped by the nape of the neck next to him, had shot Savary while Neil finished off the last of the guards. “If you’re done wrestling, we need to go,” the French bastard told him with a slight sneer.

Andrew gave him the finger then grimaced at the pool of blood creeping near him, which was the only reason he scrambled to his feet; he was burning the outfit he was currently wearing and not because he’d worn it to the scene of a crime (it was work, after all).

He fetched his one gun and made sure he had everything important on him before he put some zip ties around Cardin’s hands (just in case), then patted down the Moriyama aide to check for any hidden weapons, phone or other items that might cause trouble in the next few hours while Neil and Jean called their respective allies to let them know that things had gone according to the plan. Then Neil left to go fetch Andrew’s car (since he was less likely to be given any trouble walking around the neighborhood).

Andrew lit a cigarette while they waited, Cardin hunched over and still sniffling from the smack Andrew had given him to make him shut up. “ _If you’d let Savary shoot me, it would have been one less thing for you to worry about_ ,” he said in German. Even if Jean wasn’t that jealous about him, even if Jean knew he was leaving with Cardin, he had to admit that there was some resolution in eliminating a lover’s rival.

Jean shrugged as he combed his fingers through his dark hair. “ _It’s easier to have you take this particular package back to the States, that and I already told you, my main concern is Neil. Even if I was tempted to allow such a thing… it would have hurt him, your death. I won’t ever willingly allow him to be hurt_.” Jean gave him a lopsided smile. “ _You may be American and a bit of an asshole, but you’re not all bad. I’ll let you live a little longer_.”

Right, this from the bastard who’d tried to drown him when they first met – Andrew still owed him for that. Still, Andrew settled for giving him the finger again and finished the cigarette.

Neil returned after a few minutes, face flushed and hair covered by that black knit cap he usually wore. “Avoid the west since that’s where the gangs are making a lot of noise, but you should be good to go,” he told Andrew. “You’re leaving now, right?”

His luggage was already packed in the back of the damn hatchback, all he needed was Cardin and he’d finally gotten the man. “Yes.” All of a sudden he didn’t know what to say, not to the two men who’d helped him despite the threats and the rough start, who had more of a shared past with him than he’d thought possible.

Who under different circumstances might have had something more with each other.

“Ah, okay.” Neil gazed at Jean for a few seconds until the older Frenchman nodded, then stepped closer to Andrew. “I wish you _bonne chance_ ,” he said in a quiet voice, then slowly reached out. “Uhm, yes?”

It took Andrew a moment to realize what Neil meant by that and despite the dead bodies around them, despite Cardin and _Jean_ watching them and the fact that he was leaving, he whispered ‘yes’ as he reached for Neil in return, as he cupped the back of Neil’s neck and pulled him in for a brief kiss. Just one more, one last kiss as a reminder of what might have been but never would be.

A reminder of what he _wanted_ , a damn dream forever out of reach.

“Don’t let yourself get caught by anyone but me,” Andrew told the pipe dream when he pulled away, which made Neil smile and Jean mutter something in French.

“Not even you’re that good, Minyard,” Neil called out as he returned to Jean’s side (where he belonged).

“Just go already,” Jean said, but he gave Andrew a solemn nod before he dragged Cardin away. Once he had the man buckled into the car and zip tied to the seat, Andrew let Stafford know that he was on his way.

It had been arranged that he would drive to the international airport in Toulon to limit the risk with Cardin – the sooner the man was in the air and on his way back to the States, the better. Stafford had one of his people meet up with Andrew at the airport to help with the red tape and accompany them on the flight, as well as two air marshals on the plane. Andrew was given enough time to change clothes and grab a bite to eat before he was flying back home.

So much for any chance to see Nicky or Renee.

Browning was stunned at first that Andrew had managed to return with Cardin alive and in one piece, let alone so ‘quickly’, and swept the man away into protective custody as soon as they landed in Baltimore. Andrew didn’t have any trouble getting the next few days off approved (barring submitting a report or two), not after working non-stop on the case for the past couple of weeks, and only took the time to send out a round of texts to let everyone know that he was back home before he turned off his phone and collapsed into bed.

Once he finally woke up, took a long shower and had something to eat, he called Bee.

*******

Neil refused to feel disappointed when he checked his inbox and didn’t see any new email from Andrew; it had been almost two weeks and no new message or replies, no texts or anything from the American. He understood that Andrew had a demanding job and sometimes got pulled onto assignments without warning, but usually Andrew said _something_.

It wasn’t much, their emails and texts, a tenuous connection with words and images at any time of the day due to their crazy schedules, but it was a way to stay in touch. Neil had been surprised when Andrew had contacted him after returning home, surprised and happy, since he figured that he wouldn’t hear anything more from the agent after Cardin had been captured.

He knew they lived in two different worlds, that the only way they’d see each other again was if Andrew needed the help of two criminals enmeshed in the Moriyama underworld (that or was assigned to bring them in, which… would not end well for any of them), but ‘talking’ to each other was nice.

He didn’t know why he had to care about someone like Andrew, but he did and it didn’t seem to go away. Then again, once he’d fallen for Jean, that had been that.

“Still no word?” his lover asked as he handed Neil a cup of tea.

“No.” Neil sighed as he set the laptop aside. “Maybe he’s busy.” Or maybe Andrew had decided that a long-distance ‘friendship’ wasn’t worth the grief.

“He’ll respond, just give him time,” Jean assured him. “He’s a stubborn asshole, after all.”

That made Neil smile and curl up against his lover when Jean settled on the couch so they could sip their drinks together; it was cool in the apartment with the windows open to let in the wind blowing off the sea, a pleasant spring so far which they were determined to enjoy.

A spring which they were able to enjoy for once, due to the Hatfords expanding their presence in Marseille and the Moriyamas losing more ground. Cardin’s testimony against the family had dealt a painful blow to Ichirou, was making him look weak to many organizations and cost him support which the Hatfords and other families were only too happy to take advantage of all over the globe.

As Ichirou lost power, Riko grew more and more unstable as well, to the point that his current contract was in jeopardy because of the fits he threw on court, the abuse he heaped on his teammates. Neil read each article with delight and even Jean smiled as they watched the Exy news together.

Perhaps in another year or two, things would be safer for them, would be stable enough that they wouldn’t always have to look over their shoulders for the monster that was Moriyama. Perhaps. But that day was coming soon enough.

They would still have their scars and their nightmares, and Neil would always see his detested father’s face whenever he looked in the mirror. But there was an odd sense of peace, of satisfaction, of knowing that you’d survived your enemy, that you’d lived long enough to throw dirt on their graves and walked away to the new home you’d built out of ashes and shattered dreams.

He’d finished the tea and had begun to grow sleepy, lulled into complacency by Jean’s warmth and comforting presence, when his lover gave him a slight nudge. “Come, we’re supposed to meet the new client Salomon set up for us.”

Grumbling a little over having to move, Neil allowed Jean to pull him onto his feet then went to slip on a pair of shoes and a lightweight jacket (to hide his weapons). Since they were heading all the way down to Plage de la Pointé Rouge, an odd place to meet up in Neil’s opinion (unless one liked beaches, which he didn’t, especially after the one mess of a job the previous year), they got on the bike (with Jean driving).

The client insisted on meeting at some small bar at the beach, which wasn’t too crowded in the late afternoon and that early in the season – give it another couple of weeks, though, and the place would be packed. Neil and Jean glanced at the people gathered inside and didn’t see anyone wearing a red hat, which Salomon had told them to look for, so they headed out onto the small patio overlooking the sea.

There was someone standing with their back to them, dressed all in black save for the red hat, their attention seemingly focused on the sea as they smoked a cigarette. Neil stiffened as he took in the short stature and broad shoulders, the familiar tension in the stocky body. “Andrew?” he called out in disbelief.

The American removed the hat and tossed it aside as he turned to face them. “Nice to see you still remember a few things.” He sounded as emotionless as always, yet there was something intense in those hazel eyes of his, something sharp in the way he regarded Neil.

Unable to hold himself back, Neil rushed forward and could barely get out a ‘yes’ before he was pulled against Andrew’s solid, muscular body and kissed. The bastard tasted of coffee and cigarettes, and Neil felt the faint burn of stubble as he was kissed with enough passion to convince him that Andrew had indeed missed him the past few months.

“ _Ah, putain_ ,” he murmured when he pulled away a minute or two later. “I’ve been worried about you. What are you doing here?” While he spoke, Jean came alongside them.

“Arranging to move here,” Andrew said as he kept a hand on Neil’s waist; he exchanged a look with Jean over that and relaxed, just a little, when Jean shook his head, a slight smile on his lips and no obvious objection to the touch. “It took a while for me to transfer to International Operations.” He gave a slight snort as he glanced back and forth between Jean and Neil. “Someone was impressed enough by the Cardin case to believe that I’d be an asset in Marseille.”

“Someone is a fool, but what else is new with you Americans,” Jean remarked with a faint sneer.

Meanwhile, Neil was wondering if Andrew was serious. “Really? You’re going to live here? Full-time?”

Andrew nodded as his hand fell away. “I’ll probably get pulled into other cases in the area, but yes. Is that going to be a problem?” he asked as he continued to gaze back and forth between them.

Neil glanced at Jean, who already knew his opinion on the matter. “We will always owe the Hatfords a debt,” Jean said for the two of them. “Things are better now that the Moriyamas are weakened, but there are some ties we can’t break.”

“I think we can avoid a conflict of interest,” Andrew assured them. “I’ve always been tied to anything Moriyama-related, there’s enough people in the agency who feel that I’ve gotten enough glory with that to snatch up the Hatford cases should anything like that come along for themselves.”

“Then we should be all right, especially since we’re known to be ‘cooperative’.” Neil glanced back and forth between the only two men he’d ever cared about, whom he’d felt any spark of attraction toward. “We can make this work.”

Jean and Andrew took to staring at each other as if having some sort of non-verbal conversation, and just when Neil was ready to smack the both of them, Jean inclined his head. “Yes?” he asked Andrew, which surprised Neil, especially when Andrew nodded in return.

It was barely more than a brush of the lips between the two of them, and as soon as they pulled away, Andrew grabbed onto the front of Jean’s dark blue jacket. At first Neil thought he was pulling Jean in for another kiss, and then he was yelling as Jean was tugged around then shoved into the sea.

Fortunately, the water was only a meter or so deep, and after letting out a loud curse in surprise Jean took to laughing. Neil shot Andrew a virulent look before he knelt down on the deck to reach out a hand to his lover, and found himself laughing as well as he pulled Jean out of the water while an obviously smug (and dry) Andrew lit a cigarette.

It was going to work out just fine between the three of them.

********

**Author's Note:**

> *******  
> Uhm... yeah. Who knows, maybe one day there will be more showing Andrew and Neil and Jean fumbling along. Maybe. Once I get Raven's Partner finished (FINALLY) and a couple of other things further along.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!


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